


Diamonds on Skid Row

by GoldStarGrl



Category: Veep
Genre: Alternate Universe - Escorts, American Politics, Bisexuality, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-05-25 11:18:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 32,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6192970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldStarGrl/pseuds/GoldStarGrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan Egan was very good at everything he did.</p><p>He’d been quick to learn how to read as a child, quick to pick up sports and sex as a teenager, and now, five years after his government dreams went down in flames, he was the best at his new job - an escort to the rich and powerful elite of D.C. </p><p>That is, until Jonah Ryan decided to stumble back into his life with all the grace of a bull at a DNC fundraiser.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

_some people, no matter_

_how much money they make_

_can't get out of their own way._

_\- The Front Bottoms, "Help"_

 

* * *

Dan Egan was very good at everything he did.

He’d been quick to learn how to read as a child, quick to pick up sports and sex as a teenager, and now, at twenty-seven, he was the best at his job. He woke on Friday at two in the afternoon, stretching his interlocked arms above his head, his toes pointed like a ballet dancer as he sat up in bed. He liked to give himself a few hours to get ready before his calls started coming in, and on Fridays, people were ready to have fun as soon as the clocks on their desks read five.

He sometimes slept naked, but it was October and getting more chilly, so he’d expanded to one of his Cornell tee-shirts and boxers, which he peeled off as he entered his bathroom. It was nice for a little place in Foggy Bottom, nice for most people in their mid (fine, mid-to-late) twenties.

He had a clawfoot bathtub like some fainting Victorian woman, which he turned both taps onto. He wasn’t a huge fan of baths, but the previous tenant had left it behind and he knew it was good for him to soak, soften his skin up for the night ahead. So he took a bath, holding his new book on the history of debt crises in the US and Europe just above the water as he did. He tweezed his eyebrows for the better part of twenty minutes, moisturized, and put in his contacts. That was a very important step - nobody wanted a guy with glasses.

He blew his hair dry, carefully marked his place in his book and was forcing his book back onto the overstuffed shelf next to his bed just as his phone started buzzing. 4:00, right on schedule.

“Hi Susan.” He said, wrapping the cord of his hairdryer around the bulk before walking it back to the bathroom. "How are you this fine fall afternoon?"

“It’s Sue, Dan, you know that.” She said briskly. “You get your beauty sleep?”

“Always. Who do you have for me tonight?” Dan heard the rustling as Sue - at least that’s what she called herself, she never used her last name, or maybe even her real name, but he wasn’t going to push on something so trivial - shuffled through her list of printouts, finding one to send him to.

“Barbara requested you again. So did Mr. Davison.”

“For what?” He pulled on a clean undershirt, rifling through his drawer for his briefs. People rarely dug his ratty hang-around boxers either.

“Barbara is going to a gala at the EEOB combating childhood...something.” The papers stilled and the sound of clicking as Sue switched to her Blackberry. “Mr. Davison wants the usual.”

Dan paused, wedging his phone between his shoulder and ear as he stepped into his underwear. “Is he going to _pay_ the usual?”

“Yes.” She said flatly, already bored by Dan's inevitable groan.

“Susie Q, you know I need more than that, my landlord hiked the rent again. Fucking gentrification.”

She clicked her tongue. “Mr. Davison is one of our longest and most discreet clients. I’m not going to lose him because one of my escorts is throwing a hissy fit about wanting a bigger allowance.”

“I’m not-” Dan felt his voice rising and promptly swallowed his words, forcing himself to breathe out through his nose, long and slow, before he spoke again. “Let’s do the EEOB thing. I’m not in the mood for sex tonight.”

“Did you hit your head very hard on the steps of the Capitol?" She said drily. 

“Ha-ha.” He leaned closer to the mirror on his bureau, baring his teeth to check for anything stuck in between them. “When is this thing, 8? Text me the address, I’ll pick her up at 7:30.”

“Okay. Make yourself pretty. Goodbye, Dan.”

"Bye." His teeth were perfect, as expected. He clicked them together as he hung up. Time to get this show on the road.


	2. Chapter 2

“You look very handsome tonight.” Barbara said as Dan helped her from the car, careful not to crease his tuxedo. He smiled, his practiced, flirty grin.

“Oh, I can’t hold a candle to you.” It was a fairly true statement. Barbara looked good for a fortysomething, in her navy wrap dress, her dark hair pulled back to show off her dangling sapphire earrings. She smiled and took his offered arm.

“I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“And some of the guys.” Another laugh. He was a well-oiled machine tonight, standing up straight, yet at ease as they drew through security, deeper into the Eisenhower building like they belonged there. Nobody looked at them twice except to appraise them appreciatively.

The gala itself was the usual sort, all of D.C’s movers and shakers crammed into evening dresses and tuxedos they didn’t look totally comfortable in, shaking hands and pounding martinis like a Kennedy at a wake for another Kennedy. Talking. Exchanging glances. Planning attacks and alliances. God, he loved this town.

“Barbara! I thought I saw you come in!” Andrew Doyle descended on them, a broad smile on his face. He’d already had a drink or two, Dan surmised, by his rosy cheeks. Combined with his snow-white hair, he looked like some sort of Business Santa Claus. Barbara shook his hand, and then he turned to Dan, his eyes betraying the slightest confusion, nonrecognition. Dan jumped on it.

“Dan Fitzgerald. I’m a policy consultant working with Barbara on her new housing bill.” Fitzgerald was Sue’s idea, to blur the memories of the odd person who might still remember him from his brief, disastrous foray into politics. _Do you know how many Daniel Fitzgeralds there are on the East Coast alone? A Google search would never be able to find you._ The policy consultant cover - well, that was the one reminder he allowed of his past life. He'd earned that fucking degree.

Andrew’s eyebrows went up. “I didn’t know you were bringing in outside help, Congresswoman.”

“Well, I try to listen to as many of my community's voices as I can, just like any good elected official, Senator Doyle.” Barbara shot back smoothly. Dan couldn’t help but smirk. Lady had balls.

“How about I get us some drinks, Barb?” He asked.

“That would be lovely Dan, thank you.” She said, without breaking hard eye contact with Doyle. "Go on, you know what I like." Dan leaned over and pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek, also staring down Doyle, before turning away. God, he should charge people extra for landing moments so well.

“One white wine spritzer, and a scotch, house brand is fine.” He says carelessly to the teenage bartender, leaning against the side of counter. His eyes did an automatic scan of the room. It was in large part to suss out any tension building, any faux pas being remembered. To witness earthquakes right at the beginning of the fissures.

Also, it was fun to see married people he’d slept with go slightly pale as they locked eyes with him, their spouse on their arm. He couldn’t deny that.

He was so amused with his own game, with being the beltway's dirty little secret, that he missed him, that giant stack of shit with a mouth, until it was too late. He was right on top of him, taking up half the damn wet bar.

“Hey Danny.” Jonah drawled, sliding up right next to him. “Long time no see.”

Dan felt his jaw tightening, against his mind’s command to stay calm, indifferent. _Never show your hand_ was practically the code of his profession, but there was always a select few who threw him off balance, for one reason or another. With Jonah Ryan, it was Dan's pure, unbridled hatred for him.

“Martini, shaken, not stirred.” Jonah told the bartender, like an idiot.

“What are you doing here, Hepatitis J?” He asked, meeting Jonah’s smug tone with his own cool, cutting nastiness.

Jonah yanked the string of his lanyard where it was tucked in his suit jacket. “I’m West Wing now, baby. POTUS’ eyes and ears in the Veep’s office.” He crowed, holding up a laminated ID with a big, stupid A on it. Dan barely spared it a glance. Liaison. Five years in D.C. and he was still basically an intern.

“Do they use you as a ladder to take down decorations? Is this a Cousin It situation?”

“Aw, that mean you think about climbing me?” Jonah grinned even more widely. “Sorry, but some of us can get sex for free, Egan.”

“Hey, watch it.” A hot spike of anger drove down through Dan’s stomach. Out of all the things he loathed about Jonah Ryan - and there were dozens, hundreds, he vaguely remembered making a physical list at one point - the fact that he  _knew_ topped them all. He knew who Dan had been, and he knew who he was.

_“It’s all over the news. Jesus fuck, her face is everywhere.” Ben groaned as he banged down the hall. “It looks like she was fucking kidnapped.” Everyone tried their best to shrink against the furniture, fade into the wall, as he passed; No one wanted to be the weakest gazelle._

_“Have you seen it? The video?" Jonah whispered as he and Dan averted their eyes from Ben’s bloodhunt. Dan barely nodded, barely let himself move. He fought the urge to bury his head in Jonah's wide chest. To hide, not to smell his crazy expensive cologne. Not now, Dan. Not ever, but especially not now._

_“Everyone in the country has. God, who do you think they’re gonna skewer? Any shit getting out about POTUS’ daughter is like, the unforgivable sin.”_

_Jonah swiped his bangs out of his face. “How many interns are there, besides us?”_

_Dan opened his mouth to answer, but never got the chance. He felt the furious, bloodshot glare on him a second too late to do anything about it._

_“Egan! Get your ass over here NOW.”_

_Shit._

“Ooh, hit a nerve?” The bartender slid Jonah his martini, which he grabbed rather clumsily, some of the gin spilling onto his big, stupid thumb. “Don’t worry Dan.” He took a sip before throwing a crumpled bill onto the counter. “No one here cares who you are.”

Dan couldn’t help it. He knew this came with the territory, regardless of how well he dressed or covered his tracks. He knew he has to demur and let it go, for his own good. He knew he was too mad to resist. Smiling, he leaned forward, closer, closer, until his lips would have brushed against Jonah’s ear if he tilted his head half an inch more.

“You couldn’t afford me, Jonad.” He hissed. He dropped back down, flat on his feet, and picked up his drinks. The slightly stunned look on Jonah face felt good as he walked back to the table, where Barbara and Doyle were now engaged in deep, edgy discussion.

By the time he sat down, though, the knot of anxiety was building up in the pit of his stomach. Shit. Fuck. He wasn’t supposed to acknowledge he was...what he was. Not to clients (“ _It ruins the illusion, Dan_ ”) and certainly not to too-tall White House cronies who wore suits that cost as much as Dan’s first car. Sure, people suspected, but he was supposed to let them speculate. Maybe Jonah was still in the dark. He was a colossal idiot, he probably thought it was a joke, or it had flown way over his dumb head.

Sue was going to punch him. He wanted to punch Jonah.

The rest of the gala passed in the way galas often did. He downed his scotch. He smiled charmingly for a photo with Barbara - just the one, didn’t want his face popping up everywhere - and he excused himself before the Page 6 guy could get a name.

“Bathroom. Too many scotches.” He said lightly to Barbara as he slipped out. He didn’t go to the bathroom though, but out onto the patio. It was cold - crap, his gloves her still in his coat inside, but he called Sue anyway, with slightly shaking fingers.

“Hey, it’s me. Does Mr. Davison still want a meeting?” He chose his vague words, all too aware of where he was standing, how many cameras or recording devices could be in any given corner. Sue sighed, and began clicking.

“I already lined it up with Joe. He’s like a younger you.”

“Come on, you know Joe can’t get the job done.” Dan cracked, but his stomach was starting to feel worse. “Sue, look-” He needed to move, needed something to set his breathing to. “You’re always saying I’m his favorite.”

A beat. “You know he’s not going to pay the full $500 if we switch boys last minute.”

“...Fine. Fine, I-that’s fine.” He rubbed the side of his neck. “I’m done with Barbara at eleven, will that work for him?"

“I’ll check. I’ll text you. I’ll assume you're always in the mood for sex from this point on to avoid further whiplash."

“Sounds like a plan.” Dan said. A thick, heavy pressure was building up in his throat; he was surprised he was even still talking. “I’m going back to our friend Babs, tell Mr. Davison I’ll be at the room soon.”

“He hasn’t agreed yet.”

“He will.” He hung up with tingling hands and racing thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

Technically, Dan was not supposed to just walk into a hotel without checking in or calling up. Technically, though, his entire life was built on things he wasn't _supposed_ to be doing. Anyway, it wasn't like he stuck in with plans to bomb The Jefferson, only to pay a visit to one of it's frequent guests. 

He got an Uber straight to the hotel after dropping Barbara off at her house, so his tuxedo was rumpled, his bow tie hanging from his lapels. He may have been a little flushed from the drinks he had at the gala and in the car ride back, but his hair still looked nice, and the clear cost of his shoes and cufflinks put any questioning eye at ease. _Look put together, but forgettable, and move quickly._ He remembered, the golden tenements of his career, as he stepped into the elevator and pressed 3.

Kent always rented the corner room on the third floor - 314. It had taken Dan four appointments to realize the fucking robot had picked it because it was the first three digits of _pi_. Dan attended a magnet school and then Cornell, and he still wasn’t _that_ much of a nerd.

“Who is it?” The cool, slightly distracted voice answered before he was even finished knocking. Dan was glad. He needed to put the gala, Jonah's smug face, and the headspace that accompanied it all behind him _fast._ And Kent was nothing but efficient. 

“It's Dan.” Kent had never asked for his last name, real or fake. He just didn’t care enough. Dan wasn’t sure if he preferred that or not. He let himself in, closing the door quietly behind him.

Kent's swivel chair was shoved tight against the bedroom’s desk, one of the shitty imitation wood kind hotels always provided in their rooms. It was covered with spreadsheets and printed out graphs and charts. The only free spot had his laptop open, with the screen full of more of the same. He glanced up, his expression remaining neutral as Dan drew level with him.

“Hey Mr. Davison.” Kent didn’t like Dan using his first name in case the room was bugged. Dan didn’t mind that aspect of it too much, a lot of people asked him to call them weird shit - last names only was nothing.

“Take off your pants.” Kent said carelessly, going back to typing in his Excel document. Dan tossed his belt on the carpet and kicked his suit pants and boxers off next to them. He resisted the urge to cross his arms as he waited, motionless, for Kent to dain to glance at him. Thirty seconds passed. Kent finally minimized the sheet he was working on, and equitably took in his legs, his cock, his ass, with a gaze that made Dan feel like he was being scanned into a computer. He wiggled his toes, just to prove control of his body.

“Have you been going to that pilates class I recommend?” Kent spread his legs, palming himself through his pants as he swiveled slightly in his seat, facing Dan. He clenched his thighs on reflex, his body suddenly feeling too large and bulky and graceless.

“A couple.” He had, it was just hard. All those pulleys and weights - he much preferred running. Kent nodded, as though he had expected this. As though Dan was just as disappointing at previously analyzed. He unzipped his own pants, his own briefs, and patted his thigh. Dan sat down on it gingerly in acquiescence as Kent rolled on a condom he'd buried in between sheaths of paper.

“I have some work I still need to do. You think that you can be quiet?”

 _Don’t blush, Egan. Don’t fucking blush. Don’t give him the satisfaction._ “Yes, Mr. Davison.” he said quietly, and allowed himself to be grabbed by the hips and repositioned to the center of Kent's lap.

He got a good view of the weeks projections as he squirmed, pushed himself up and down on Kent's dick. Polls about how much various parts of America wanted X bill passed or repealed, what kind of popularity the POTUS and the administration were looking at in the after effects. He moaned loudly and when he was supposed to, when he knew it wouldn't distract Kent's work. It wasn’t completely false - the feeling of Kent’s arm wrapped tight around his waist, his beard scratching against Dan's neck to continue reading did felt good, he was a human being - but it was far less than really required his full attention.

A year or so before, he’d asked Kent, when he was fucking him over a desk just like this, if he really thought holding off on carbon taxing until millennials were of age was really the best idea. It had been a busy week - something like six clients - chaotic and wearing in a way that made his job really feel like a _job_. In his boredom, his eyes had fallen on polling numbers that seemed incomplete.

“Dan, I think we should talk only on things we understand.” Kent had said, his slight breathlessness the only betrayal of his actions. “Now, I didn’t say to stop moving, did I?” Dan hadn’t been able to stop from blushing that night.

He reached down to started stroking himself off as he felt Kent start to tense, the way he rocked back and forth inside Dan becoming more urgent, swift. He came and Dan reached out to grip the edge of the desk with his free hand, his eyes fluttering rapidly as his ass tightened around Kent and he was pushed over the edge. For a moment the only sound was the two of them catching their breath, and the hum of the mini-fridge in the corner.

"You're wrinkling my findings." Kent said. Not sternly, or with a raised voice, but like someone weary of talking to a disobedient child. He lifted a sweaty hand to circle Dan's wrist and almost gently pried his hand from the table, where his thumb had indeed been digging into a piece of graph paper, and set it on his lap.

And Dan didn’t say a word. He didn't have any, in the brief post-coital haze. There was that, at least, momentary clarity in a life built of anxiety and panic. It was a great perk earned from a job he was good at. It was his life, and it made him happy.

It made him happy. It made him $350 for half a hour of work. That was the the same thing, right?


	4. Chapter 4

He resigned himself to waking up for good around 6 AM.

There was nothing to be gained from lying prone in bed after a fitful night’s sleep if it wasn't making him pretty. He spent a fortune on that bizarre bee venom moisturizer last month anyway, might as well get some use out of it. He got his Keruig running and dug his sneakers out of the front hall closet with a little too much zeal, trying to take his mind of the night before.

Sometimes appointments didn’t go smoothly, sometimes people and their words and glances got stuck in his head. He just needed to shake it all off with some exercise, and move on. And he didn’t know anyone who compartmentalized better than Amy. He just had to catch her.

“Morning beautiful.” He said as he fell into step next to her. She briskly jogged past the World War II monument, clad in pink and gray latex, a hard, quiet intensity in her eyes. Her phone was slotted in a velcro armband above her elbow, but no wires connected it to her ears. “No music?”

“Why bother? Whenever I go out, annoying men run up and pester me for Beltway gossip.” She didn’t break her gaze on the sidewalk in front of her, but shifted slightly to the left to let Dan onto the pavement next to her. “You smell like sex.”

He hadn’t showered since last night; Kent never offered his bathroom and he’d been too wiped when he got home to Foggy Bottom. He smiled in a manner he hoped was lascivious. “You jealous?”

Her pale eyes almost rolled up into her head. She picked up the pace. He followed, but not in a way that would look creepy or predatory to anyone else out at this time of day. Like he would ever have to stalk Amy - they were intrinsically linked, forever and always connected, since he first started working for Sue. Back when they both did.

“Did I tell you McClintock is in debt?” She changed the subject, slightly breathless, as their feet pounded around the Reflecting Pool in sync. “Like, monster debt?”

“Yeah, last week.” He watched her swinging blonde ponytail, almost mesmerizing in it’s rhythm. “Isn’t he trying to sell his boat to random passersby?”

“He even called Ed last week, and they met maybe twice.” She pulled ahead of him slightly as they turned the corner, giving him a chance to appreciate her legs and ass in yoga pants; he was briefly but intensely seized by the urge to bite her thighs. God, he couldn’t remember the last time they’d hooked up. He’d say he was jealous of Ed, but he doubted the guy even knew what to do with someone like Amy. He’d probably faint trying to eat her out.

“How is the future Mr. Brookheimer?” He may not have been jealous, but he couldn’t resist a dig. Ed was the kind of guy who looked like he’d been built to teach schoolchildren how to bully someone. Amy shot him a glare over her shoulder.

“He’s fine. We’re both fine. How _you_ are is the real question.”

Dan’s stomach dropped before his mind caught up, filling with dread after a few seconds of processing delay. Not only did he have no idea what she was talking about, but anything that made Amy Brookheimer, an ice queen even by K Street standards, express concern for him couldn’t be good.

“I’m fine. Why, what-what did you hear?” The more he tried to remain nonchalant, the more he felt himself stiffening, eyelids fluttering a little too quickly. Amy caught it, and her eyelid sunk down into suspicious slits.

“The thing with Furlong. Jesus, have you not read the news today?”

“I-I was fucking beat last night, I had a late appointment, and I ran into Jonah Ryan who just- he makes me fucking furious-” He could feel himself starting to stammer, fuck it, it had been his tell since preschool. When he was anxious, his mouth apparently decided to let the whole world know by losing all function.

Amy slowed down, stopping right where the steps up to Lincoln met with the neatly manicured grass. She clutched her waist on either side and caught her breath. “I thought Sue would have told you, she’s usually so on top of this stuff.”

“Sue doesn't call before noon so I can sleep, you know that. Hey, what are you, the world’s vaguest lobbyist? What the hell happened?” Dan grabbed his left sneaker with his right hand and pulled, stretching while they talked so he didn’t look so goddamn panicked. Amy too, tucked her arm behind her shoulder blade and tugged it down with her opposite hand.

“It wasn’t him. One of his staffers, Will something, got mugged by an escort last night, after the veep's party. She stabbed him with her fucking stiletto.”

"Holy shit, the veep stabbed him?"

"The _hooker."_

Dan felt himself blink again, but with less urgency. “So? Shit, it wasn’t one of ours, was it?”

“One of _yours._ ” Amy corrected quickly, her features hardening. Dan let his foot drop.

“Whatever Ames.”

“No, it wasn’t. I don’t think she was an agency girl. The official line is that Will hired the girl of his own violation and has been fired, but now Furlong has got his dick wet about cracking down on prostitution. It's a ploy to make everyone forget the very real fact she was probably for him.”

Her phone lit up from where is was strapped to her arm and she pulled it out, scanning it quickly before holstering it again. “There are murmurs of a sting operation with the DCPD, maybe one of the big letters.” Another buzz from her phone. Another glance. “Hey, I have to get to work. Just be careful, okay?”

Dan nodded, digesting this information. This sort of thing had happened three years prior, back before Amy had ditched him and her spectacular talent for eating pussy to become Miss Hetero Legitimate Job - she’d actually been the one to calm him down one night as he lay in her bed, obsessively listening to the police scanner on his iPhone. _“They’ll stomp around for a few weeks, maybe book some of the street corner girls. Sue’s discreet, the worst thing that will happen is that the clients will get scared for a minute and our salaries will dip.”_

Fuck Furlong and his grandstanding. Dan was fine then and he would be fine now. Probably a little hungry, but fine. “Thanks for the heads up. Run you back to the Metro?” He offered as Amy took off ahead of him again.

“Oh Dan - I’m a grown up. I have a car.” She smiled sweetly as he flipped her off, but allowed him to fall back into step with her.

After a few moments silence but for breathing, during which Dan contemplated how he was going to make rent on the 31st- “Wait, you were talking to Jonah Ryan? You didn’t do something stupid, did you?”

“You mean besides engage with the mouthbreather to begin with? No, not fucking likely. Why?”

Amy used the bounce of her run to look both ways, see they were alone, before letting her voice drop even softer. “I had him as a client once. If anyone is susceptible to opening their big fucking mouth about Suescorts at a time like this-”

Something seized tightly in the center of Dan’s chest. “He...he used...shit.”

“Unclench your fucking cheeks, Dan, he knew about me, not you. Odd are he’ll never tell. None of these government guys want to admit they have to pay for ass. He's just so sensitive and overblown...know when to keep your mouth shut." She smirked. "In every sense.”

“Ha-ha, fuck you.” The feeling in his chest loosened, but only slightly. They drew off the tourist path and towards the street, over the sidewalk and the first falling leaves of the season. “...Jonah and you? Seriously?”

“Honestly? Not a bad lay. That thing about guys with big feet…” Amy let herself enjoy the expression on Dan’s face for a second before jogging away, leaving him at the subway entrance. Still poor. Still anxious. Perhaps moreso than when he started the day.


	5. Chapter 5

Sue was already seated in one of the corner booths when he got there, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the dimly lit restaurant. For the first time in months, the _woosh_ of air conditioning wasn’t a welcome relief against the swampy humidity of the city. He felt himself shiver, unable to shake the chill from his skin, as he slid in across from her.

“You’re late.” She said, not looking up from where she was busily texting.

“It’s my day off.” He said, trying not to sound annoyed. He was, though. Monday was his day to do laundry and read and occasionally go hook up with someone for the fun of it, just to keep his skills sharp and be able to leave the next morning without a stack of crumpled paper bills in his bag. But _no_ , Sue was apparently going down her list of escorts and forcing them to come meet her over...he wasn’t actually sure what this restaurant served, he only ever got coffee.

“You’re going to have a lot more days off if you’re not careful.” She said, finally setting down her phone and folding her hands on top of her skirt. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumblings?”

Dan nodded, thanking God he’d talked to Amy over the weekend. Sue had a way of telling when he was lying and calling him out. It was a good skill for an agent ( _“I’m not your madame, Dan, this isn’t Baton Rouge._ ”) to have, but very annoying when used against him. “Furlong’s guy got busted with a girl, right?”

“I have a contact in the White House who tells me they found cocaine in the bag left at the scene. They suspect D.Cs escorts are moving drugs for a cartel, and law enforcements moving fast.”

"Sue, you know I don't fuck with that stuff, right? Maybe some pot, but that's for my anxiety..." She fixed him with a steady look from under her fringe of bangs and he petered out.

“Possible cartel involvement had caught the interest of the Feds. I’m preparing our shutdown plan.”

Dan swallowed, a block appearing in his throat as he tried. “Does everything in this city have a shutdown plan?” He joked. Sue didn’t react.

“If I don’t call at the usual time, call me. If I don’t answer, you need to make yourself scarce for at least a week. Just go about your business until that happens - if that happens.” Her eyes went back down to her phone, and she resumed texting.

 _What the fuck does that mean?_ He wanted to shout, wanted to create a scene matching the panic rising inside him. He was just supposed to keep seeing clients until the FBI came banging on his door? Was he going to go to prison? He could not do prison, he was too pretty and sarcastic. Was Sue selling them all down the river to save her own ass? Where the hell was he supposed to making himself scarce _to?_ He wasn’t going back to Rochester, he’d do three to five in Petersburg Low before he went back to New York.

If Sue noticed his racing mind, the millions of questions and what ifs running through his frozen body, she didn’t say anything to comfort him, only raised her dark, immaculately groomed eyebrows.

“That's all. Go, take your day off. I do have a list to get through.”

“Right.” Dan stood, smoothing down his tee-shirt for no particular reason. “I’m your favorite though, right?” He forced a grin, forced a calm. Shove it down Egan, keep moving.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Dan. And you’re getting too freckly again, find a new sunscreen.”

* * *

The bar was fairly empty, even for a Monday night. Dan had been sitting at the counter for the better part of two hours, nursing a scotch and watching four or five other patrons filter in and out as everyone else’s workday came to an end. After meeting Sue, he’d gone home, done his laundry, and tried to read _First, Shoot all the Lobbyists._ He barely got through the first two chapters and forgot to change over his clothes in his building's communal laundry for hours, so when he remembered they were unceremoniously dumped on the floor, crumpled and wet. He grabbed the least sopping of his sweaters and walked straight to Flanagan’s after that. What a fucking bust of a day off.

He knew a lot of White House and EEOB people didn’t get out of work until eight or nine on a slow day, so he focused his flirting on a waitress, a pretty Asian girl whose shiny black hair was twisted elegantly on top of her head, a few loose strands falling in her eyes as she cleared away empty glasses and half-eaten boxes of french fries.

“What’s your name?” He asked, leaning towards her, letting his arm stretch long against the bar. She glanced up and gave a tiny smile.

“Hannah.” College girl. He hoped she was at least twenty. The past few years he felt increasingly creepy about hitting on eighteen-year-olds. Once, a visiting dignitary had hired him to bring his frumpy daughter to a gala, and the girl still had pink-and-purple braces. He’d been twenty-five at the time and everyone had looked at him like he was the picture at the end of Dateline. He still made out with her after though, just with the lights off.

“I’m Dan, nice to meet you.” He held out a hand and she shook it too hard, the way girls sometimes felt they had to, especially type-A Washington girls. “Are you in school?”

“I’m a junior at AU. Poly-sci major.” She rolled her eyes. “Cliché, right?”

“Hey, weren’t we all?” He laughed knowingly, and he can tell it’s working, making her feel like they’re in on the joke together. God, students were so easy - they just wanted to feel included in the town. Hannah cleared another spot and leaned against the counter, giving him a more direct eyeline.

“You gotta tell me it’s worth it!” She laughed, shaking her face clear again.

“...It is.” He didn't think he paused long enough for her to notice, but took a big sip of his drink anyway. “Do you wanna go into the public or private sector?” He had to raise his voice a little as they bar was becoming more crowded, more rowdy. Hannah shrugged.

“I see the appeal of both. What about you, what do you do?”

“Danny’s got fingers in all the pies, if you know what I mean.” Came a loud, slightly drawling voice, standing just behind Dan’s stool.

His grip on his glass grew so tight, so fast, he was surprised it didn’t shatter. Jonah slid between Hannah and Dan, elbowing both of them in the chest as he waved at the bartender. “Vodka martini.” He yelled, too loudly. Hannah flinched and Dan nearly kicked Jonah behind the knee. “Jonah Ryan.” He grinned at the girl, and he was doing it all wrong, too big, too crooked and overpowering. “What’s your name? I bet it’s hot.”

Hannah smiled thinly, humorlessly. “I have to get back to work.” She caught Dan’s eyes through the triangle of Jonah’s arm. “Nice meeting you Dan, see you around?”

“Definitely.” He said, trying to control the murderous rage filling his eyes. Hannah made her escape and Jonah turned, leaning in the same spot she had just vacated.

“You shouldn’t lie to a nice girl like that.” Jonah said as he settled into the stool, his long legs overtaking the space between him and Dan. His pants were too tight.

“Why don’t you crawl back into whatever primordial ooze you were kicked out of?” Dan snapped, twisting back around. Months with no sight of the missing link and then twice in a week. _This_ week. The universe was trying to kill him.

“Hey, hey, I was trying to _help_ you. Don’t your people have a Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell about your line of work? So you don’t end up in Gitmo?”

Dan only stared with increased intensity at the bottles behind the bar. He wasn’t going to confirm. After his slip at the party, with a racket growing loud enough to shake the unshakeable like Sue and Amy, he was not going to step on a clearly marked landmine, he was not.

Jonah just laughed again, and learned closer, their legs bumping together, warm even through two layers of fabric. “You think you’re being so fucking sneaky, don’t you?”

Dan didn’t turn his head, didn’t blink, only reached over and dug his fingers into his thigh. The effect was instantaneous; he didn’t get manicures once a week for nothing. Jonah yelped, swore as he recoiled. “Jesus, what the _fuck_ Dan?”

Dan said nothing, downed his the rest of his drink, and stood to leave. He could still feel Jonah’s wide leg, hot to the touch, under his fingertips, but didn’t let it show. He didn’t even pause when Jonah called after him, right when he was about to hit the door, “What did I ever do to you?”

_“Dan, what the hell, why is...fuck.” Jonah’s eyes widened and he screeched to a halt, his mind processing the meager box of personal items Dan was clutching to his chest. His newly ID-less chest. Dan continued to walk past him, his eyes on the light fixtures, chin tilted slightly up in an effort to keep the wetness in his eyes from spilling over._

_“Someone had to take the fall for First Daughter being at that club.” He said dully. "Guess I'm the one getting pushed." Jonah fell in step behind him._

_“Shit, shit, no, I’m gonna talk to my uncle, he’s gonna fix this, it’s going to be fine.”_

_Dan shifted his jaw. “That’s what you said this morning, Jonad.”_

He took a long bath when he got back to his apartment, and while it drained, he jerked off to pretty waitresses and other people’s thighs, and watched it all swirl away with his head pressed against the cold porcelain rim.


	6. Chapter 6

He had less clients than last week.

He tried not to compare, but it wasn’t his fault that he could count. Things always slowed in the middle of the week, but only two clients? What was this, Nebraska?

On Tuesday he put on the poolboy routine for a bored trophy wife whose husband was in the senate and “worked all the time”. That one was fun, he hadn't had water sex in ages, especially with someone he was pretty sure was a former Ms. November. On Wednesday he sucked off the CFO of an NGO in his office during lunch, and spent the whole night smoking pot and watching basketball. That was it. He was fast losing the battle against financial anxiety.

Sue called on Thursday just as he was settling into his morning bath, a glass of red wine propped in the soap dish, lifting his feet out of the water and wondering if he should shave around his ankles.

“You got anyone good for me tonight, Susana mi amor?”

“Not for you specifically.”

His feet dropped back into the water with a soft splash. “No one wants me tonight?”

“I didn’t say that, Dan. You’re so dramatic.” Papers rustling, keys clacking. “...I have a returning client. Usually gets women, but the past few appointments he’s been looking for a tall, dark and handsome type.”

“Um, hello?”

“He wants the boy-next-door experience. Jeans, no hair gel. Sweet. That’s not really your forte.”

Sue didn’t say things like that to be a dick - she just boiled her escorts down to their looks and their strengths. Dan was handsome in a cruel way, all sharp edges and dark features and white teeth that could rip your throat out. He was the sex on legs or the impressive date or, occasionally, the one cracking the whip. He didn’t look sweet, or nice, or like anyone’s boyfriend. He knew this. Technically.

He also knew the absence of specific requests for him could be crops failing, the first sign of a drought. And he had bills to pay, clothes and books to buy, Metrocards to reload. “I can be sweet.” He said, taking a sip.

“Ha.” Sue actually said the word, _Ha_ , without a single humorous inflection. “I’m not losing this much money because you can’t deliver on company promises.”

“ _Company promises_? Jesus, is this a investment bank now? Do we all have to go on a retreat to Spokane next week?” He sat up a little in the tub so he could hold the phone to his ear. He always took it off speaker when he was fired up, like a slightly louder voice would make the other person understand his intensity. “How much is he paying?”

“Five thousand.”

“Five grand for the whole night?” That _was_ impressive.

“For the hour.”

Dan choked on his wine, dropping the glass into the water, where it ran pink diluted with his bath. He yanked the drain chain and jumped out before he could get sticky. “ _Shit_.”

“So you can see why I’m not handing him to some...wolf in sheep’s clothing. I’ve been sending him Luke and Joe but it’s Luke’s day off and Joe has the stomach flu.”

Fucking Luke and Joe; teenage twinks. Dan refused to stand next to them during group bookings or when all of Sue’s guys and girls would go out for a drink. They made twenty-seven look like the new forty. “That’s perfect timing then. Sue. Susie. Don’t make me beg. Not unless you’re paying for it. You know I need the cash.”

“All of my clients need cash. Everyone needs cash. That’s how capitalism works.” Sue said flatly. Dan sighed as he wrapped a towel around his waist and fished his wine glass out of the soup.

“I can do sweet. It’s all in the eyes. I can do it. Lemme at him.”

A beat. “Be at the Hay-Adams at seven. Room 423. Client goes by 007.”

Dan smiled, a real smile, as relief swept through him. “Ah, so he’s a dork. Even better.” Probably a closet case who wanted to act out the long repressed feelings he had for some jock he went to high school with.

“Blow him, not the account Dan.” Sue said, and hung up before Dan even registered that she’d made a joke. She really needed to work on her tone.

He spent the better part of the afternoon perfecting his look. His hair washed but left soft and product-free, no makeup on his face, only moisturizer. He even chose the evening's outfit from the “Egan” side of his closet instead of the “Fitzgerald” one. Fitzgerald clothes were the nice suits and sweaters and lingerie he bought in the most upscale shops in the district, outfits for being toted around on someone’s arm, playing Prince Charming. Egan clothes were the ratty sweats and cotton t-shirts he wore when he wasn’t working, some of them so worn he was fairly confident they were purchased back in college.

He picked an old Cornell tee-shirt, his second favorite jeans - he wasn’t ruining his favorite pair with any unseemly bodily fluids - and a pair of Converse he bought already distressed, like an asshole. He practiced smiling shyly in the mirror, thinking about wholesome, boy-next-door things, like apple pie and football and giving blow jobs while your parents were out of town for the weekend.

He called an Uber while he packed a bag of condoms, lube, and his phone charger. Despite the whirlwind of the last few days, he couldn’t help the anticipation pooling in the pit of his stomach. New clients were always interesting, especially ones this loaded, and he couldn’t deny he still got a mild thrill out of figuring out what a client wanted in ten seconds or less. Especially one paying this much money - God, he was going to be a huge freak, wasn't he? The rich ones always were.

The Hay-Adams had glass front doors, which allowed him to scan and locate the elevator before walking in. One of the women at the reception desk noticed him anyway.

“Good evening sir, can I help you with anything tonight?” Her tone was bright and chipper, but he could see a sharpness in her eyes, a judgement. _You don’t belong here._

He grinned as suavely as he could. Shit, this is why he'd always wore his nice clothes to hotel appointments, if given the choice. It was much harder to blend in with the rich and famous when you were wearing clothes from an Ithaca Target.

“I’m fine, thank you.” He said, and went fast for the elevator, his toes curling inside his stupid shoes.

 _Hey - I’m at the H-A. Call me if I don’t text by 8:15._ Standard safety text to Sue when he was meeting a client for the first time, just in case Mr. 007 lived up to his fake name and tried to kill his hooker. Rare, but in the present climate he couldn’t be too careful. He knocked on the closed door of 423 gently. “Hello? It’s Dan.”

No one answered, but he thought he heard a sharp intake of breathe on the other side. He knocked again, louder. “Hello? Mister….” He sighed, inwardly cringed, and said it. “Mr. 007? It’s Dan. I’m sorry I’m late.” He wasn’t, but maybe that’s what this guy was looking for. Someone apologetic and submissive from the moment he walked in the door.

Still nothing. He rapped on the door now. “Look, if I have the wrong room just tell me to fuck off.” Oh shit, this guy wasn’t chickening out, was he? Ugh, he’d never be able to get Sue to reimburse him for the ride over.

Finally, finally, he heard footsteps, the metallic clinking of a twisting knob. The door opened slightly, and when greeted with a tie and shirt sleeves, Dan’s head automatically lifted to meet the eyes of the man in the threshold.

He could count on one hand the number of people he had to look up at.

No. _No._

“..shit.” Jonah said, more softly then Dan had ever heard him speak. He raked a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs back in a haphazard tangle. “Um, hi.”


	7. Chapter 7

Once, when he was twelve, Dan and his mother had been in a car accident.

Some moron hadn’t looked both ways before speeding through the intersection by his middle school. He t-boned the Egans’ SUV at forty miles an hour, right where Dan was sitting in the passenger’s seat. The airbag blew up on contact, protecting him from death or concussion, but the explosive force hit him so hard it knocked the wind from his lungs. He was gasping for air, stomach aching, long after his mom pulled over and the paramedics arrived.

He’d never felt anything approaching that level of breathlessness, that total loss of air, until this moment.

Jonah stared down at him, his hand still on his own head, pushing back his hair, like his stupid bangs were the only thing keeping them both frozen in the threshold. His mouth flapped open and close once, twice, before anything resembling words came out.

“I...um, fuck.” He jerked his head back towards the room. “Do you wanna c-come in?”

Dan still couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, but his body, as it always had, took over when his mind went into kernel panic. He balled up his fists and turned down the hall, stomping fast and robotically towards the elevator. Jonah dropped his hand then, catching up to him in two strides of his long legs and stepping, with an almost graceful slide, in between Dan and the elevator. He placed a hand on Dan’s shoulder, the heat from it melting through the thin t-shirt fabric. “Hey hey hey, don’t-”

“Don’t what? Don’t _leave?_ Are you gonna kidnap me, you fucking Bigfoot Psycho?” It wasn’t one of his better insults, but most of Dan’s mental strength was going towards not letting his voice shake or pitch too high, not falling apart right in the goddamn fourth-floor hallway. Jonah’s eyes widened and he took his hand off Dan, holding them up in front of him.

“Shit, no, that’s not - THAT’S NOT WHAT’S HAPPENING.” He raised his voice, looking from one end of the hall to the other for anyone who might be eavesdropping. “THIS IS A NORMAL CONVERSATION BETWEEN TWO CONSENTING ADULT-” Dan leaned forward and clapped his hand over his stupid, gaping mouth.

He felt Jonah’s lips purse under his palm, and then his gross, hot tongue licking a stripe up to Dan’s fingers. He cringed, but kept his hand pressed against Jonah’s face. He’d done grosser for longer.

“Shut up, unless you want everyone in the hotel to know what you’re up to.” He didn’t give a fuck if people knew Jonah used whores. He _didn’t._  But his own face being connected to it was not a risk he was willing to take. “Walk in front of me, we’re going back to your room.”

He waited until Jonah’s face calmed somewhat, until he jerked away from Dan’s hand and slouched back towards his door, pushing in the room key, before he followed, silently, quickly.

When he closed the door behind him he leaned against it, crossing his arms. Jonah had continued walking, all the way to the other side of the room, his fingers tapping against the leg of his suit. For a moment, neither of them said anything, merely existed in close, fidgety silence. Then-

“It’s not a pervy thing, the outfit.” Jonah said, a little too loudly and aggressive, as though Dan might be having trouble hearing him ten whole feet away. Dan blinked, and willed his toes not to curl inside his sneakers. Jonah was still talking. “I don’t go cruising for jailbait or anything, just-everyone wears suits here, all the time, or else that fucking stupid running gear-” He waved his hands sharply by his head, as if too overcome to speak. “Jeans are hot, okay?”

Dan continued to say nothing, only look at him. There was power in silence, he’d always known that. Not to mention if Jonah was going to try to dig himself out of this hole, he wanted to bear witness with no interruptions.

“You look really good, okay? I’m complimenting you, this is me being nice.” Jonah swiped his bangs out of his face, faltering for the first time. “Hey, are you actually...you know…”

“Into dick?” Dan stepped on his rambling, finally. Jonah shrugged and bobbed his head awkwardly, his eyebrows arched too high to seem like a natural reaction. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would, actually. Straight guys being forced to give blowjobs isn’t hot.” At least Jonah had this one semblance of virtue among his many, many faults.

He considered which answer would cause the least personal indignity. “I’m bi.” He admitted.

“For pay?”

“For _life_.”

The overgrown chimp’s smirk came back, creeping awfully up his face. “I fucking _knew_ it.” He said, and Dan’s arms locked even more tightly over his body.

“What do you _want,_ Jonad? You wanna laugh? Fine, you did it. I’m the one going home with the knowledge you have to pay people to look at your chode. Goodnight and fuck off.” He forced one of his arms to relax, drop, start twisting the doorknob.

“I didn’t do this to mess with you."

"Sure."

"I didn’t know it was gonna be _you_ , okay? I just wanted someone li-” Jonah clamped his mouth shut on his outburst, but even the words he swallowed were loud and clear. Red spots started to bloom unevenly on Jonah’s face, his neck and ears.  

Dan’s other arm relaxed. His whole body did, a little. That’s what happened when one held all the cards. He smiled too, wide and mean.

“Ah. So I’m in your head, huh? Got you a little hot at the bar the other night?”

“No, _no,_ I didn’t say that.” Jonah was turning even redder. “You were the one who had the hots for me, back when we were interns, remember?”

Dan raised an eyebrow. Like Jonah was babbling nonsense. Like he wasn’t suddenly drawn back to that night at the club, when they all got a little too buzzed, POTUS’ daughter dancing on tables with her shirt slipping down her shoulders, some East Wing intern daring people to do a line of coke, Dan’s lips brushing a path down Jonah’s neck in a loud and blurry room. “Whatever you have to tell yourself, buddy.”

Jonah looked like he wanted to argue further, get angry, but instead he just mirrored Dan, crossing his arms. “So, what's the deal? Are we...doing...this?”

Dan stiffened again. “...How do _you_ have five thousand dollars?”

Jonah looked puzzled for a moment, genuinely unprepared for the question. “Kane family bank account. I’ve got a trust fund the size of New Hampshire.” He took a step forward, and then another, testing the waters.

“That’s disgusting.”

“Why is it disgusting that I can buy the nicer things in life? You should be flattered that you're one of them, Danny.” His voice started to pick up it’s sneer again. Dan’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t call me that.” A beat, a thought, the professional urge reminding him of the thing he’d normally do when before they started. He held out his hand. “Give me the money.”

Jonah pulled his card from his wallet - Jesus, black Amex, the douche really did have a silver spoon somewhere in that cavern he called a mouth - and Dan laughed, short and barking, though there was nothing particularly funny about it.

“Cash. Where the hell do you think I’m gonna slide that thing?”

“Right. Right.” Jonah slid the card back in his pants, a little frazzled.

“I thought you’d done this before.”

“I said right, Jesus. I’m going to the ATM, calm your tits.” He drew even with Dan and looked at him pointedly until he peeled himself from the door and allowed Jonah out. It shut with a quiet click.

He found himself sitting down hard on the bed without any actual decision to do so. The same went for pulling out his cell phone and punching in the first number he could think of. _Pick up pick up pick up._

“Amy Brookheimer.”

“It’s Jonah.”

“What?”

“It’s Jonah, I got called in for a client for a shitton of money and it’s _Jonah.”_

There was a pause. Dan heard the faint sound of silverware clinking on the other end of the end. Amy was probably at a dinner, like normal people with unfucked up lives were on Thursday nights. “...Wow.”

“Did he pay you a lot, when you hooked up with him?”

 _"Dan._ ” Her voice became warning, lilting, and he could tell she was talking through a clenched smile. He sighed, running a hand through his hair and chancing an anxious glance at the door.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, from what I remember. One of the reasons it wasn’t terrible. Excuse me, I have to take this.” She said chirpily to someone unknown. He heard a chair scraping, the sounds of the restaurant getting dimmer, before she spoke again. “Why the hell did Sue even give him to you? Don’t you have a No List?”

“Yeah, but it’s for, you know, clients who got too rough or didn’t pay. It’s like three people long.” Dan prided himself on how short it was - he could handle anything. In the hallway, faint footsteps started to get clearer. "I gotta go.”

“Wait, are you going to fuck him?”

“I don’t know. And fuck the judgement. Glass houses, Brookheimer.” He hung up just as Jonah opened the door.

“So I couldn’t get it all out of the ATM at once, can I give you half now and half after?” He asked, holding out the limp stack of bills.

And Dan looked at him. Tall and broad in his shirtsleeves like he was an extra in fucking _All the President’s Men_ with dark hair falling in his eyes, his big eyes wide and slightly anxious, skin still pink from his earlier embarrassment.

And so much money in his hand.

Dan pushed himself off the bed into standing, briskly strode the distance between them, and kissed Jonah hard.

It was an ugly, rough kiss, with too much teeth and tongue, but the way Jonah responded made it clear to Dan why Amy hadn’t wanted to set herself on fire after sleeping with him. He was filthy, opening his mouth wider, pushing his tongue a little more insistently. A big hand pressed in between Dan’s shoulder blades, pulling him closer, closer.

Without looking, Dan grabbed the money from him and stuffed it in the back pocket of his jeans.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d kissed someone taller than him, had his chin tilted up with one hand while the other moved up and down his back, digging under the hem of his shirt and sliding back up again, skin on skin. Dan whimpered a little, against his will, and felt Jonah smile against his mouth.

"You like that? You like my hands on you?" 

"Shut up." He couldn't resist rolling his eyes as Jonah hunched forward just a little more, moving to kiss his jaw, his neck. The slight scrape of his light stubble rubbed against Dan's shoulder in a way that tingled. God, he hated himself, hated the way his hands gripped Jonah's shirt, neck, over-gelled hair like a drowning man as Jonah sunk lower and lower...what was he doing?

Jonah's pinky laced through one of Dan's belt loops as he settled on his knees. "You like my hands, wait for my mouth." he grinned, his lips red from kissing, his pupils dilated like black moons. He mouthed the outline of Dan's cock through his jeans, where it was already getting hard, straining a little against the zipper. "I knew you liked boys, Danny."

"Says the one licking my dick- _god."_ Jonah lightly smacked his inner thigh before making quick work of his zipper. When he took him in his mouth, looked up at Dan, somehow still smug on his knees, he had to concentrate all his remaining will not to come right then. 

He tightened his grip on Jonah's hair, so hard he almost felt bad for ripping into his scalp. But the way Jonah hummed, got his hands back in Dan's shirt, rubbing his thumbs against the edges of his hips, it didn't seem like he minded one bit. 

"Bed." Dan muttered. "Bed, or I'm going to come now."

Jonah continued sucking, swirling his tongue, until Dan let go of his hair, his knees starting to shake a little. He pulled away, slowly, and the mere feeling of cooler air against his sensitive, straining cock was almost too much, he screwed his eyes shut as Jonah stood, threading a hand through the hair on the back of Dan's head as he pulled himself up. "Come on, Danny. I thought you were a professional." He murmured against Dan's forehead. 

"Fuck you." Dan whispered. Jonah, with surprising tenderness, took hold of his wrist and walked him over to the mattress. His own pants were tenting, and fuck, even in his slightly overwhelmed, overstimulated state, Dan could tell Amy hadn't been exaggerating about certain size related matters. 

Jonah grinned, sitting down with his legs spread like every asshole on the subway, and with a little tug, jerked Dan forward, standing in between his knees. "Nah, I think I decide whose on top tonight."

Dan kicked off his shoes and let Jonah's knees, pulled in tight around his thighs, push his pants down into a little more of a crumpled heap at his knees. He felt like he was in between the lips of a Venus flytrap, just waiting for the snap, the clamp, to devour him whole. 

Some of the fifty dollar bills fluttered out of his twisted pocket and onto the carpeted floor.


	8. Chapter 8

The elevator was playing a soothing muzak version of an classic rock song. Maybe something from Kansas, Dan wasn’t totally sure. It also seemed kind of tacky for a hotel as nice as the Hay-Adams to have elevator muzak. He wasn’t totally sure of that either.

He’d tucked all his money - Jonah delivered on the other half as promised - into his bag, with the unused condom and lube. A bag full of money without even getting fucked; that was the hooker’s dream.

Because they hadn’t had sex. They hadn’t lasted that long. Dan couldn’t remember the last time he’d come just from kissing and a blowjob, the last time someone - not even a client, but _anyone_ he’d slept with - had gone down on him first, without rushing or making their annoyance known that they even had to do this. Jonah lay on his back and tugged Dan up, over his legs, his chest, onto his face, and finished him off, swallowing with nary a grimace.

So Jonah Ryan liked giving head. Interesting. Definitely something Dan didn’t know he’d learn when he woke up that morning - fine, that afternoon.

Afterwards he’d shifted and guided Dan back down until he was straddling his hips and they were face-to-face, and Dan could taste himself when Jonah kissed him, just kept kissing him with a strange focus and intensity he didn’t know he possessed, but he didn’t pull away.

Eventually he felt Jonah poking him against the thigh and jerked him off, a hand down his still-on pants and boxers - classic boy-next-door style. So Jonah Ryan also had a massive dick. Also interesting. It had been a very...interesting hour.

A soft ping interrupted the muzak as the elevator doors slid open at the lobby.

Jonah kissed his neck before bringing him back the rest of the money. “That wasn’t so bad, was it Danny?” He’d smirked, tucking his shirt back into his slacks. Dan rolled his eyes and flipped him off, but Jonah just laughed out the door. There was something strange in the air when he did that. If Dan had to put a name to it, he'd call it a lack of tension.

He hustled out of the Hay-Adams and out onto the street, texting Sue he hadn't been decapitated, and hailed a taxi. A real one, not an Uber. He tipped the driver nearly 50%. He could afford it, today. Christ, could he afford it.

As he watched the lights of the city go by - slowly, ever more slowly in the slog of D.C. traffic - he waited for his stomach to recoil. For the disgust and rage that filled his mind whenever he thought about Jonah Ryan and the life he’d stolen from Dan to kick in. Anger did flare up, a little, when he thought of that trust fund baby’s smug face, his unlimited Amex card and his undeserved job in the place Dan dreamed about working since he was-

 _Had_ dreamed. That he _had_ dreamed _once_ a _long_ time ago. He wasn’t a kid anymore, he didn’t believe in fairy tales or some fuzzy fantasy of pacing around the Oval Office, changing the world. He had a good job now, a lucrative job, and he was going to put all thoughts of Jonah and the stupidly satisfying orgasm he’d given him behind him.

 **_AMY:_ ** _Did you end up doing it?_

 **_DAN:_** _I don’t want to talk about it._

 **_AMY:_ ** _Don’t spend it all on Armani._

* * *

He checked his email when he got back to Foggy Bottom, rather than go to bed. The night was still young, and he wanted to live in a state of dissociation from his real life a while longer, stop himself falling back on the memory of Jonah’s hands and mouth. Most of the messages were spam or updates on his Amazon orders, but one sent a few hours before caught his eye, from lp1995@gmail.com.

Leigh, one of Sue’s girls, was turning twenty-one, throwing herself a big party at a nightclub near Le Droit Park, and Dan was invited. Technically. He was pretty sure he was only invited because he was on a blind copy list some idiot had made a year or so back when Sue lost her voice and couldn’t make her calls. He wasn’t really friends with most of the other escorts, though whether that was his fault or there’s was anyone’s guess.

It was his.

They were all just so goddamn depressing. All the cliché stories of broken homes and sexual abuse and bastard children and younger siblings to feed; he never knew how to respond to their tales of woe during group events or if they ran into each other after meeting Sue. Amy had been the only one he’d ever really gotten along with, and that’s because she was like him; quick, hard behind the eyes, always planning her next move. They were different. Of course they were different.

_“Jesus, are you some kind of virgin?” She flipped her sheet of blonde hair out of her eyes as one of Senator Meyer’s security detail unlocked yet another door, buzzing them through. Dan flushed, winding his arms tightly across his chest._

_“No.”_

_“Then why do you look five seconds from smelling salts?” Her blue eyes, ringed in too heavy mascara and eyeliner narrowed a little. “Shit, you’re new, aren’t you?”_

_Dan shifted his jaw and blinked, trying, as he did in every new job, to fake it until he made it. Unfortunately, his silence gave her the answer she was looking for. The detail guy stepped aside as they reached a staircase, winding and steep. She stepped briskly in front of him, taking out her phone and punching in a number. Dan hastened to keep in step with her as they climbed the stairs._

_“Hey, Sue, I’m at the Meyers appointment with Jitters here. Call me if I don’t text you by midnight. Okay, bye.” She hung up and tucked her phone into the small, glitzy purse she carried under her arm._

_“It’s Dan.”_

_“What?”_

_“My name, it’s Dan.”_

_She stared at him steadily for a moment, like he’d spoken in some foreign tongue. Then she nodded. “Amy. You ever had a threeway before?”_

_“Once in-in college, nothing like…” Not for pay. Not with a goddamn U.S. Senator and some random girl, however hot she was. They reached the top of the step and Amy sighed, opening her purse and pulling out a small bottle of lotion, rubbing a liberal amount on her hand._

_“It’s honestly no big deal, Seli-Senator Meyer is pretty vanilla about it, and she always pays up front.” She stuck her hand up her skirt, rubbing it in between her thighs. Dan leaned back, momentarily confused and mildly aroused._

_“What is that, Jesus, do you have an STD or something?” Panic was seizing his chest, his legs were locking up. He couldn’t do this, walk in there and fuck someone possibly diseased for money, to survive, he couldn’t do it. Amy’s face flickered quickly from confusion to amusement._

_“What? No, it’s just lotion. Convince them you're already wet and you're halfway there.” She deposited the lotion back in her bag and nodded towards the bedroom door, just a few feet away. “Dan, seriously, relax.”_

_“I am relaxed.” He lied._

_“Good. It’s showtime.”_

“I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I’m not here, I'm drinking in a bar where a party just happens to be going on.” Amy said distractedly, her shoulders hiking slightly, gesturing choppily to her vodka tonic on the small, high table. He picked it up and took a swig of it before he sat down next to her. She snatched it back, and for a few moments neither of them said anything, only watched the eight or ten escorts Leigh had been able to rustle up on short notice dance and sloppily take shots on the shitty parquet floor.

“Did you get her anything?” Dan asked finally, after waving down a waiter to order a scotch from.

“I got her a phone charger. A couple of jobs we had together the battery was always toast. Did you?” Too late, she deflected. All her hunched shoulders and dismissive phone-glancing couldn’t betray the way her eyes kept flicking over to Leigh. Leigh, who blended into a crowded even when she was the guest of honor, with something close to pity. Did she look at him like that?

“Hey, I’ve been otherwise occupied tonight, Ames.” He was reluctant to bring Jonah and what happened back into the foreground, but he needed to distract her, shake that disgusting pitying look out of Amy’s eyes. It worked. She trained her eyes on her phone as her thumbs danced across it, but her lips pursed a little too hard in a pathetic attempt to yield her smirk.

“ _Riiight_. I see Giantor didn’t crack you in half, that’s good. Would have been a nightmare to clean up.”

Dan did blush than, downing half his scotch in one go, trying to pretend it wasn’t burning his throat. “Shut up.”

“He paid you everything, right?”

“Yeah.” Dan shifted in his seat, leaning in closer as the bass drop got louder on the dance floor. “It’s kind of suicidal to have that much cash under my mattress, right?”

Amy shrugged, setting down her phone. “Every little bit helps. Especially with all the rumors going around.”

A shard of ice dragged down the center of Dan’s stomach, a sensation becoming fast and unfortunately familiar. “Anything I should know?”

“No seismic change, Furlong and the conservatives are climbing aboard the S.S. Hypocrite and trying to round up all the girls and guys who gave them squeezers in the country club bathroom last week.”

Amy tried to sound dismissive, but her tone awkwardly stuck on “squeezers” and Dan had to bite back a smile. The woman was twenty-six years old _plus_ a former escort, and she dirty-talked like a 6th grader sounding out a Playboy. “All I’m saying is it’s good you took this job, business might be a little dry for awhile.”

"I know, that's what everyone's saying." Dan nodded pensively, watching the others dance on the floor, get more and more amped up and drunk and gropey. He thought about a line from some book he’d read a long time ago, maybe even a Bible reading from when his parents dragged him to church as a kid; _eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die._ Maybe this is how other hookers expressed their panic, or maybe they weren't panicking at all. Maybe things didn’t seem so dire when you were newly twenty-one. This life hadn’t seemed like a forever when he was that age.

“Plus, I’ve never seen you look this calm after an appointment.” She shrugged. “When you’d come back to my apartment afterwards, you wouldn’t shut up for an hour or you’d read one of your weird books-”

“ _The Communist Manifesto_ is not a weird book.”

“-cover to cover, you were so fucking lit up. Now you’re all...zen. Jonad and his financial security might be good for you.”

“You shut your whore mouth.”

“Some of us were only whores to pay off student debt, Danny. We didn’t all choose it as a lifestyle.” She looked down at the bottom of her glass. “I’m gonna get another one before I head back to the office.”

“You mean home?”

She smiled mockingly as him, sliding off the high stool as gracefully as some whose feet didn’t touch the ground could. “Don’t knock anyone up.” She called without turning around, locking back in with her phone.

Dan grinned and set down his glass. “No promises.”

He wormed his way into the throng, grabbed the hips of the nearest person, and started to roll with the wave of their body. It took a few songs, but he managed to lose himself in it, the way he had in his early twenties before his life fell to shit. He let the music blast through his eardrums, the dim light blur his eyes and the order of shots that came around loosen his arms and legs. He whispered _happy birthday_ into Leigh’s ear as he slid his hands up her shirt. He wasn’t going to think about money, or the feds, or his job. He wasn’t going to think about Amy and he certainly wasn’t going to think about Jonah Ryan.

  
**UNKNOWN NUMBER:** _Hey, I got ur # from ur phone wen u were in da b-room. U + mi should hang pronto - JR_


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay, and thank you to everyone who left such kind reviews. This chapter has a passing reference to molestation, if that upsets you, maybe only read the first half.

**UNKNOWN NUMBER** : ive been thinkin bout U a lot today

 **UNKNOWN NUMBER:** like a lot a lot

 **UNKNOWN NUMBER:** u make the hottest cum face, stg

 **DAN:** This is a private number. If you’re trying to get in contact with me for professional reasons please reach out to my employer.

 **UNKNOWN NUMBER:** imma ask Sue to book us another date. that kool?

 **UNKNOWN NUMBER:** dan?

 **UNKNOWN NUMBER** : if it’s cool don’t say anything

 **UNKNOWN NUMBER:** JR nails it again

Having money was nice. Dan wasn’t going to deny that it was nice. A large chunk of his 5K had gone to paying his rent and utilities, true, but having that squared away for November plus being able to buy $25 dollar wine - as opposed to the $5 kind - was still a treat. He needed the nicer stuff to get to sleep at night anyway. As October wound down, so did the jobs he was being offered, like a stream trickling to a few droplets. He accepted the $50 and $100 jobs Sue managed to find him with great reluctance.

When his paycheck could be presented in a single bill, he felt less like a high-class escort and more like the drunk girl at Mardi Gras, offering to show her tits to passersby for a dollar. His only plum client, God help him, was also the most annoying. Dan would block his texts if he could figure out how his iPhone worked. Several times, when Jonah woke him at two in the morning with his annoying little _bleeps,_ he bent his rules a little, stopped replying with the Sue approved, non-incriminating script - _please contact my employer blah blah blah_ \- because he just couldn’t take it.

 **DAN:** Why do you keeping texting me?

 **UNKNOWN NUMBER:** cuz I wanna talk 2 U, retard

 **DAN:** You’re not supposed to call people retards, it’s 2016.

 **UNKNOWN NUMBER:** U doin anything on Mon?

 **DAN:** As in Monday? A six-letter word you apparently can’t type all of?

 **UNKNOWN NUMBER** : fuck it. We should hang tho haha

 **DAN:** Monday is my day off, free of overly-tall rich boys.

 **UNKNOWN NUMBER:** relly? Cuz J-Diddy thinks the lady doth havin a lot of days off lately

Hair prickled on the back of his neck. Dan pushed himself up on his elbows in bed, pulled down the information on the text bubble, and pressed call.

“Dan?” Jonah picked up on the first ring, the desperate loser he was. He didn’t sound sleepy at all; Dan could hear the faint sound of explosions behind him, some sort of video game designed for fourteen-year-olds. He didn’t really give a fuck.

“The fuck does that mean?” He snapped.

“What are you talking about-”

“You have no fucking idea how many clients I see per week, per _day_! You don’t know anything about my job.”

“Okay, Jesus.” Jonah said. “I do work at the White House though.”

“No way. You should have said something. Fuck off.”

“I’m not an idiot Dan. Not everyone is as bulletproof as me. Furlong’s getting some traction and them fraidy-cats be running.” There was a creak, leaning back on an old chair or something. “I’m offering you a fun Monday night in a town where everyone else is pretending they don’t know you.”

“Hey.” The word pricked at his throat.

“No hotel, over at my apartment, and it help you keep your lights on. Win-win.”

Dan hesitated. He remembered Amy, her smug smirk, how badly he wanted to prove her wrong. At the same time, he remembered Jonah’s hands, heavy and warm, on his hips. “Monday is my day off.” He repeated.

“I’ll pay you really well, you know I’m good for it. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Why was he so goddamn desperate for Monday? It must be an exclusivity thing, Dan reasoned with himself. Rich kids, they always wanted to be the only one with something, the only one who got to fuck Dan Egan that night. “Call Sue. This is a hard maybe, buddy.”

“Fuck yeah.” Jonah’s voice so obviously perked up it was less douchy and almost cute.

“Goodbye, Jonah.”

“Wait, wait!”

“What?”

“What are you wearing?”

Dan hung up and threw his phone on his bedside table, unable to stop his smirk. God, he must be exhausted if Jonah and his inane babbling were the kind of things he found charming. He stretched, arms up over his head, and shut off his lamp.

* * *

He honestly forgot.

He didn’t own a TV - too expensive, but he told everyone it was because he liked books better to seem deep - and only read Politico for the daily news. When he saw a flock of Georgetown girls at Starbucks that morning in matching pink booty shorts and feather boas, he thought it was some pledge thing. It wasn’t until that night, when Sue sent him a cab and directions to Jonah’s apartment, when he saw little kids in cowboy costumes lugging pillowcases around, that it hit him.

“Shit, is it Halloween?”

“What?” repeated his cab driver, in a thick accent Dan couldn’t quite place.

“ _Halloween_.” He enunciated. “Is today October 31st?”

“Yes, yes.” the man said, still seeming slightly confused. Dan pinched the bridge of his nose as they pulled onto Columbia Road, past some quirky paint-splattered bar, to a row of apartments. Nicer apartments than his own, with a few children gathering outside as the cab slowed to a stop. Shit.

Some sort of long-dormant Catholic guilt stirred in his stomach as he paid the driver and walked up the steps to apartment 27-A, inching past the kids dressed as Stormtroopers and that blue princess that froze everything. There was something indecent about wading through gaggles of children on the way to whore oneself out, he decided, knocking tentatively on the door. “It’s Dan.” He said, trying to sound law-abiding.

The door creaked open a silver and Dan poked his head in. "Hello?"

He barely got his feet across the threshold before a horrifying, bloody face, oblong and frozen with open-mouthed shock, jumped into view, three inches from his face. “Boo!”

“FUCK!” He swung his bag at the face, smacking it hard, He geared up to make another jab when there was a groan came from behind the face-no, not the face, the mask.

“Jesus, Dan, Dan, it’s me, calm the hell down, psycho!” Jonah reached up and pushed the mask backwards, off his face so it looked like a demented visor fucking up his hair. “It was a joke!”

On any other occasion, Dan would’ve punched him on the arm so hard he bruised. But he was at work, he remembered just in time, and settled for “That wasn’t _funny_ , you asshole.”

“It’s not my fault you’re a pissbaby.” Jonah shrugged, rubbing his sore nose. “Close the door, I don’t want those little shits thinking someone’s getting murdered.”

“I take it you’re not handing out candy?”

“I bought some Reese’s but I decided I wanted them.” Jonah shrugged, smirking. He reached out an arm again, and Dan tensed, but he just wrapped it around Dan’s waist, tugging him against his chest, and squeezing his upper back with his free hand. “Anyway, hey.”

He tucked Dan’s head under his chin. Dan's face gently pressed against Jonah’s worn green tee-shirt, breathing in his slightly-too-strong aftershave, for three full seconds before he realized was happening.

Jonah was  _hugging_ him. 

He pulled his head back and coughed awkwardly. “Um, my money.”

Jonah tensed, Dan could feel his hands stiffen, and then disappear from around him. It was strangely cold, their absence. Whatever. This part was awkward, but necessary. He wasn’t going to let Jonah play out some perverse boyfriend scenario without getting paid to go through the motions. An uneven, familiar flush flared up on Jonah’s neck and cheeks as he scratched the side of his neck. “Duh. Just give me two seconds, Jeez. Danny.”

Dan almost snapped at him again, stop calling him that. The only person who called him that was his mother, and he wasn’t a huge fan even without it turning into some vaguely Oedipal thing. But then Jonah’s wallet was out, all the money ready in cash this time, and Dan swallowed the complaint as he counted. Three thousand. Less than last time, but Sue had warned him, _"This is a date night appointment, not a fuckfest"._

Whatever it was, it was still a hell of a lot more than he’d been making lately. He carefully zipped it in his bag and gestured down the hallway, where he saw doors he assumed led to whatever grimy futon Jonah slept on. “Where do you want me?”

Jonah pushed his bangs out of his eyes and shrugged. “The living room?” There was a knock on the front door, little voices yelling for tricks or treats. “Oh my God, shut _up!_ ” He snapped rolling his eyes. A short barking laugh escaped Dan’s chest before he could stop himself, and Jonah straightened up a little as he led Dan to his couch.

It was a mess of a living room. Dan couldn't throw stones, but at least his mess was books and magazines and empty take-out boxes, as opposed to Jonah’s video games and clothes and a coffee table covered in half finished Mountain Dews and candy. He reached down and held out a plastic bowl of Reese’s and candy corn; a fucking orange assault on Dan’s eyes.

“I’m good, thanks.” Dan said with an eye roll, sitting down primly on Jonah admittedly soft couch, picking up a crumpled flannel shirt with the tiniest bit of nails he could manage and tossed it on the floor.

Jonah shrugged and stuffed a handful of candy corn into his own mouth, chewing his teeth orange as he plopped down next to Dan. Their knees, thighs and hips touched through two pairs of jeans. “More for me. Okay, so _Friday the 13th_ or _I Know What You Did Last Summer_? It's up to you, hooker’s choice.” He clicked on his TV - stupid big flat screen - and pulled up the On Demand menu, glancing over to where Dan sat next to him. Dan only looked up, face blank save for his rapidly blinking eyes. “What?”

“It’s just...what, are we reenacting night you lost your virginity?” When people booked "Date Night" in their homes, it usually meant half a glass of wine in the dining room before a solid hour of fucking, not...candy and shitty slasher films. Dan raised an eyebrow, and tried not to feel his stomach twist when Jonah’s face fell; he quickly clicked his jaw and laughed through his nose.

“No.” Jonah said, a little too harshly. “Does this look like the back of a Camaro?”

Another laugh escaped Dan without his consent. “You did not lose your virginity in the backseat of a _Camaro._ ”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you’re not a character in _Grease 2_.”

“Well, not all of us were what, twelve at our uncle’s house?” He guessed, waving a giant hand vaguely at Dan. Dan rolled his eyes.

“Oh, nice. Because of what I do for a living, I must have been molested.”

“If the boot fits.”

“It’s _shoe_ , fuckstick _._ ” Jonah didn’t say anything, just selected _I Know What You Did Last Summer_ and pulled his legs closer together, away from Dan. His own leg tensed, then bounced a little in anxiety. Dan waited until the opening credits had swept across the stage before crossing his arms and leaning tentatively against the cushions. “I was sixteen, by that way.”

Jonah didn’t give any indication he’d heard him, his eyes locked on the screen. Blue light splashed across his face.

“Katie Flynn, in her bedroom when her parents weren't home. I lasted...a minute, if we’re being generous. She tasted like this goopy strawberry lip gloss she was always wearing. Nothing earth shattering.”

Teenagers ran around on the beach onscreen, blissfully unaware of their imminent deaths. Jonah shifted his weight again, reaching for another piece of candy in the bowl. “What about with dudes?” He said thickly, through a mouth of peanut butter and chocolate. “Was that an on-the-job thing?”

Dan rolled his eyes. “Nice. No. I was nineteen, with my college boyfriend.” Russ, a doctoral candidate who taught Dan’s freshman environmental policy class - not that he ever gave specifics when it came to his clients. Russ was an eternal student who eventually acquired a law degree and a doctorate and even came down to D.C. occasionally to lobby against fracking. Unlike Katie, there was a real chance his clients could run into Russ. Jonah didn’t get to know about that part of Dan’s life - he’d already ruined so much of what he had born witness to.

“Cornell, right?”

“What?” Dan was pulled from his Russ memories, his strange, nostalgic zone-out.

“You went to Cornell. That’s where this guy fucked you.” Jonah nodded towards Dan’s chest, and with mild embarrassment he realized it was the same Go Big Red t-shirt from their last appointment. “You wear that shirt more than you think you do.”

“Ha-ha.”

“I was twenty-one.” Jonah said, quietly. “With this guy Matt. We both worked at a forensics camp after college, and we got drunk in his dorm one night. It was…”

“Fast?”

Jonah smiled. “Yeah. I was...I was just tired of waiting, I guess.”

They both fell silent for a moment, and Dan watched Jonah watch his movie, his face again focused in a way Dan had never seen when they worked together.

“Jonah?”

“Mmm?”

“Why did you want me to come over tonight so badly?”

Jonah shrugged. There was a quiet moment in the film, the teens driving away from the body they’d just run over. Dan could hear real kids outside, all shrieking and running around. Their voices mixed with the bar just a few yards from Jonah’s apartment, where their fellow twentysomethings were becoming more raucous as the night went on and they got drunker. Jonah seemed to hear them too.

“I love Halloween.” He said. “All the parties seemed lame. You’re fun to hang out with. Kind of.”

Dan had lonely clients before. Most of the time, in fact, that’s who he was dealing with. People who were tired of showing up to parties alone or having sex with someone they didn’t love or weren’t attracted to. People who paid him to pretend to be their friend. But he didn’t think he’d ever seen something as pathetic as Jonah paying someone to spend his favorite holiday with him. He almost felt sorry for him. And pity was inacceptable. He didn’t give it and refused to receive it. Time to kick this mopey shit up.

“Hey. This movie _sucks.”_ He said, tilting his chin up, the light in his eyes igniting, laying out the challenge. Jonah looked at him, startled.

“This is a fucking great Halloween movie, watch it.”

Dan tucked his legs underneath him, pushing himself onto his knees on the couch cushion, turning to look at Jonah head-on. He took a deep breath, and reminded himself that dignity was not as important as self-preservation.

“Make me.” He breathed. And Jonah’s teeth were tugging on his bottom lip faster than he could have hoped.

So they fucked, right on the couch. Dan barely even turned over, didn’t even take all his clothes off. With his jeans and boxers pushed down to mid-thigh, he lay flat on his stomach as Jonah made quick work of the condom and plying Dan open with one, two, three wide fingers, before finally rubbing the head of his cock on Dan’s entrance. Dan whined, arching his back almost in spite of himself.

“Just do it.”

“Once you admit that _I Know What You Did Last Summer_ deserved a fucking Oscar nod.” Jonah leered. Dan burst out laughing. One of Jonah’s hands, the one that hadn’t just been up his ass, lazily brushed the nape of his neck, light, long circles up and down his back. “I’m waiting, Danny.”

“It’s a cultural masterpiece of it’s-TIME.” Dan choked a little on the last word, as Jonah had apparently decided half a pretend commendation was enough, and pushed into him, bottoming out.

Amy was right. He was fucking huge.

Jonah let out a hissy sort of sigh, and his other hand, still wet with Dan, pushed into the cushion for balance as he began to move. It was a lot, _a lot,_ Dan felt so full he wasn’t sure he could take it, although his own dick pressing against the cushion under him, leaking, clearly couldn’t handle it stopping.

“You good?” Jonah asked, breathless in a way Dan didn’t even know he was capable of sounding. He nodded, and Jonah’s grip on the couch tightened. He dropped to his elbow and lay down against the top of Dan’s back, not enough to crush him, but enough that every part of Dan's body is heavy with the warm weight of Jonah. He ground into the cushions as Jonah thrust, a little more controlled and smaller, hitting _that spot_ in Dan. He whined again.

“Fuck, Jonah, _fuck_.”

“You’re so hot, Dan, you’ve got the best fucking ass, I- I can’t- _God_.” A contraction and Jonah groaned, coming inside him, sticky, hot. Without Dan so much as coughing, he reached around, forced his hand under their combined weight, and stroked Dan off into his couch cushions, fast and messy. He went noodly under Jonah, who didn’t seem much more in a rigid state.

"Thanks." one of them mumbled. Dan felt the light brush of lips on the side of his neck.

 **DAN:** What happens at the end?

 **JONAH:** Wha? O,, they all dye

 **DAN:** Bummer.


	10. Chapter 10

He didn’t fall asleep on Jonah’s couch, not exactly. He never fell asleep on the job. He was usually too wired and wanted to keep track of his money, and sometimes he was just nervous the client might try something they didn’t pay for.

So he didn’t fall asleep on Jonah’s sticky and increasingly disgusting couch, Jonah curled half on top of him and half around him, being far too warm and soft against Dan’s skin. He may have _dozed,_ his vision going dim and then clearing a few times as the On Demand menu looped in the background. That’s _it._

The way Jonah sat up after twenty minutes of - _shut up Egan, it wasn’t cuddling_ \- and convinced him to eat a handful of candy corn was harder to explain away.

“You need a sugar kick, your phone’s buzzed like a million times.” He yawned, pulling off his condom and throwing it on his living room rug, like a disgusting pig.

Dan’s eyes widened as he swallowed the candy too fast, half-chewed and stinging down his throat. Panic closed around the pieces as he leaned over Jonah and dug through his bag as quickly as he could without looking frantic. Judging by how locked his arms felt, he doubted he was doing a very good job.

**MISSED CALL (1)**

His airways opened up again. He threw a glare over his shoulder at Jonah. “One call is not a million, Jonad.”

“Hey, no mean nicknames on my dime.” Jonah said, stretching as Dan checked his voicemail.

“Yeah, well, your dime is up. And in my line of work hyperbole isn’t appreciated.”

“Like when I guy says it’s nine inches but it’s, like, four?”

Dan badly disguised his snort as a cough. “Yeah, something like that.”

_Dan. It’s Sue. Mr. Davison would like a meeting with you at the Jefferson at 11. Call me before 10:30 if you want the job._

His eyes flicked to the top of the screen. “Fuck me.” It was 10:32.

“Um, y-yeah, just let me swing by the ATM again-” Jonah started, his eyes sweeping the floor for his shoes. Dan pressed his lips together and shook his head.

“No, not-not you.” He punched in Sue’s number. “I...have another event to get to.”

“What, missing out on a hot date?” Jonah grinned, but it quickly collapsed when Dan didn’t answer, only tucked his phone against his shoulder and hopped out into the hallway, yanking on his shoes as he did so.

“ _Hello?_ ”

“Sue, hey, hey, sorry, I was caught up with something, I’ll be there.” He pleaded as softly as he could, but he knew Jonah could hear every word.

 _“I said to call by 10:30._ ”

“It’s 10:32, come on, do we really have to do this dance every time Susan? We both need this.”

A pause. Dan caught his reflection in the darkened hallway window and flattened down his hair, damp with sweat and mussed from sex.

“ _Fine. Don’t skimp on hygiene._ ” Sue said, as if she should see him, and hung up. Dan pressed the edge of his phone against his chest for a moment. When it rained it poured.

“Hey, listen, I gotta go.” He said, returning to the living room with an apologetic smile, the way he always did when he had two clients in quick succession. It helped keep the illusion going, that this wasn’t just another day for him. Jonah shifted his jaw.

“Yeah, okay. You need a cab or something?”

“I got it, don’t worry.” Dan grabbed his jacket and bag, trying to ignore how stiff Jonah seemed as opposed to the last time he’d leaned over him. “Happy Halloween.” He smiled. Again, performative, part of the job, but Jonah softened predictably.

“Yeah, you too.” He slid a hand up against Dan’s ear, cupping his jaw, and kissed him softly, with breath that smelled like sugar. Dan allowed it, responded to it’s strange gentleness, for about three seconds before disentangling himself and smiling tightly. The trick-or-treaters were gone when he banged through the front door and down the steps, without another word.

He opened his bag in the backseat of the Uber, cloaked himself in deodorant, and rubbed himself down with wet wipes, ignoring the arched eyebrow of the guy driving him. It was called a whore’s bath for a reason.

He had to keep moving to distract himself from the small but heavy pressure at the bottom of his stomach when he thought of how he’d blown Jonah off like that. It was just business, he reminded himself. It’s not like he owned Jonah Ryan a damn thing, he was just another client who was getting too attached to his hooker.

Still, though. He should probably soften the blow so he and Sue didn’t lose their cash cow. He took out his phone as the car approached the Jefferson.

 **DAN:** What happens at the end?  

When the text came back, under unknown number, he rolled his eyes and added Jonah’s name to the contact.

 **JONAH:** Wha? O,, they all dye

He smirked as he paid the driver and jogged in his poor clothes through the lobby.

 **DAN:** Bummer.

* * *

"What is that smell?” Kent said, recoiling slightly as Dan straddled him where he sat on the bed, flipping through a projected cost booklet.

Dan tensed around Kent’s thighs, trying to think of what he might have spaced on after Jonah, forgotten some aspect of washing the scent of someone else off him. But Kent was frowning, leaning so close to Dan’s face for a moment he thought he might kiss him. The thought disgusted him for some reason. But Kent only sniffed near his mouth, and leaned away again.

“You’re a little old to be trick-or-treating, Dan.”

The candy corn. Shit, he had totally forgotten to brush his teeth, that’s what he’d missed. Still, he tried to smile, play it off in a flirty way. “What, you don’t think I’m sweet?”

“I find artificial sweeteners...nauseating.” Kent paused, and let his hands off Dan’s hips, hovering a few inches about his skin like a cattle herd ready to catch a wild animal if it moved again. “Perhaps...turn around.”

Dan swallowed, trying not to move a muscle on his face. Maybe this is what Kent wanted, someone like him, whose outside betrayed nothing going on in his head. Maybe this was just the next step in his own transformation, another layer to shellac onto the outside of his hard gray shell. He slid off Kent’s lap as gracefully as he could, twisting onto his knees on top of the bedspread.

“Move further towards center.” Kent said distractedly. Out of the corner of Dan’s eye, he caught the unmistakable blue light of a laptop flipped back open to check something, another bullet on the to-do list, trumping the twenty-seven-year-old hooker arching his back on the bed.

He leaned over, letting his hands sink into the comforter, took a deep breath, and crawled a few inches closer to the pristine pillows.

"That's a good boy."

His knees burned on the fabric and his forearms ached from holding himself up, staring at the headboard with his ass held high in the air, Kent railing into him over and over with calculated, but relentless, force.

“Thank you Dan, that was much better.” Kent said, after he’d come, lightly tapping the small of Dan's back, once. “Word of advice, brush your teeth next time.”

 **JONAH:** UR other party fun?

 **DAN:** It was kind of a bust, actually.

 **JONAH:** sucks to suck. wht happnd tho?

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t let himself answer. He let his phone die on top of his bookcase when he got home and sat in his bathtub so long every finger wrinkled and the water ran cold.


	11. Chapter 11

It was a bad dream he hadn’t had in awhile.

_“Is that a good idea?” He shouted over the din of the music, of people clamoring and dancing and shrieking the way college students sometimes did for no reason at all. Jonah waved him off with a grin, his other hand holding up his phone. He was videotaping Julia dancing on top of the table, the straps of her white sundress slipping off her shoulders as an admirer handed her yet another shot._

But it went the same way every time.

_“Dude, it’s fine, we’re in a public place!” He was a little too excited, twitching in a way only a line of coke in the bathroom could cause. “It’s not hurting anyone, okay? Okay? My Uncle Jeff will totally bail us out if anyone loses their shit, okay?”_

_“I don’t know.” Dan tried to say, but he too was buzzed to get the words out, too warm and young and bright and shiny, his dick too insistent in it's sudden urge to wrap an arm around Jonah’s waist, tug him closer and press one kiss, three, five, down his neck and collarbone. Jonah laughed, digging his fingers into the back of Dan’s hair as the shrieking and music seemed to get louder, sending tremors down the bar they leaned on._

_“Knew you couldn’t resist me.” He mumbled, pushing Dan's face more insistently against his skin._

_"Shut up." Dan mumbled back._

_“Guys, GUYS.”  Rachel ran up to them, the buttons of her blouse popped open at the top._

_“I can see your bra.” Jonah informed her as Dan stopped kissing his neck, instead leaning his head lazily against his shoulder, the last of his cautious edge melting into warm, boozy feelings. Rachel rolled her eyes, bouncing on the balls of her feet._

_“Benjamin got some more coke from this guy his cousin knows in the bathroom - his cousin's not in the bathroom the guy is with the stuff don’t be retarded you should come do a line come on come on.” She tugged on Dan and Jonah’s shirt sleeves. Jonah grinned._

_“Fuck yeah. Let’s do it. Dan, Danny, hold this.” He said, shoving his phone at Dan, where the video of first daughter Julia Hughes was still recording._

This was the part, every time, where he begged the dream to change. Begged this younger, drunker, hornier Dan don't do it, don't take the phone.

_“Ugh, don't fucking OD.” He’d laughed, taking a good look at the laced cup of Rachel’s bra as she leaned over to drag Jonah away._

_And he took the phone in his hands, getting his fingerprints, his voice, a flash of his eye and hair, all captured, all damning._

He woke up with a damp tee-shirt and the strong urge to throw up. That also happened every time.  

He always took the phone. Even in sleep, it was hard to make his brain deny the biggest fuck up of his life.

* * *

“Someone looks like death on a stick.” Amy said as they looped around the Jefferson Monument, through the increasingly bare cherry trees that surrounded it. Dan didn’t answer right away, just concentrated on breathing. The air was getting colder, which always induced strange asthmatic choking fits when he went on runs in the fall. Amy had seen him in many undignified positions, but doubled over on the bike path, hacking up phlegm, was one he hoped to avoid.

“I slept like fucking shit last night.” He admitted. Amy’s shoulders hitched slightly, but she blew out a breath sharply through her nose, easing them back down.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked, reluctance thick in her voice.

“Let’s just run.”

So they did, racing against the watery winter sun. Amy, as usual, didn’t bring any music, so Dan didn’t turn his on either. He didn't gawk at her clingy workout clothes, focusing instead on pulling even, and then passing her, letting the chilly air sear in his lungs. He was turning past a homeless woman sleeping on a bench for the fourth time when Amy reached out and grabbed his elbows, tugging him back with enough force to nearly knock him on his ass. He wrenched his arm away with fire in his eyes.

“Watch it! Jesus, you know I have mace.”

“You don’t _take it jogging,_ what are you, some Minnesota soccer mom?” She gasped. Dan suddenly realized how sweaty and out of breath she was, face crimson, wispy blonde tendrils pulled loose from her ponytail and plastered to her flushed forehead. “What's your problem? You’re running like you just shot the president.”

“Yeah, just yell something like that on the National Mall, that seems safe.” He nodded.

Amy sighed and tucked the unruly strands behind both her ears. “Do you want to get a coffee?”

“Um, okay.” Dan couldn’t remember the last time they’d gotten a coffee after running. It’s not like they ever even made plans to run, he just sort of...chased her. Or whatever a less creepy way to say that was. “Don’t you have work?”

“Not until seven. And I know it doesn’t take you more than fifteen minutes to suck something dry.” 

She waited until he had his coffee, until they were walking back towards Amy’s car and he’d let his guard down, before she pounced.

“You okay, Dan?”

That soft aside, a brick kicked out of the walls she built around her emotions. She only used that voice, that concern, once or twice a year. He’d seen her direct it most towards Selina during their old sessions, and it always made his stomach ache in a cold, wet way he didn’t care for at all.

“I’m just tired, I had two appointments back-to-back last night, it wore me out.”

Amy raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Did someone try-”

“No, nothing like that. I just...it’s a lot sometimes, you know how it is.”

Amy didn’t react to this mention of her past, merely paused and stirred her iced mocha with it’s green straw. “You think you might be ready to come back?”

“Back to what?”

“The real world? Get a job you can claim on the census?”

Dan swallowed, his cheeks feeling warm for reasons that had nothing to do with the run. “It’s not like I can just waltz into the State Department and demand a position after that fucking disaster with POTUS’ daughter.”

Amy pressed her lips together, looking up at the sky with the urge to sigh so evident on her face she might as well write it across her cheeks in lipstick.

“What?” Dan said testily.

“Nothing.”

“ _What_ , Amy?”

“Dan, that was five years ago. No offense, but you’re not Monica Lewinsky. People barely remember that video of Julia, let alone who filmed it.”

“ _I_ didn’t film it, okay, Jonah handed me his _fucking_ phone with the camera already _fucking_ going-” Dan snapped, but Amy rolled her eyes and waved a hand it what he imagined she thought a surrender looked like.

“I know, I know, Jesus Christ, you may have mentioned it five hundred times. I’m just saying this might be a good time to launch a comeback into the legitimate. You’re not getting any younger-”

“Fuck you.”

“Thirty is sixty in escort years, you know that. You just said you were getting worn out, and I heard a rumor Sidney is looking for some new talent."

He shook his head. Lobbying was the last thing he was thinking about right now. "Nah, I'm damaged goods."

Amy did sigh then, long and heavy; nearly a groan. "You ever think you maybe use what happened as an excuse?”

"An excuse for fucking what?"

"...I don't want to say for being a scared little bitch boy but..." She laughed uncomfortably, the way she always did when she tried to make a joke, and Dan was not going to bail her out.

A hot, irritated bolt of rage shot up through Dan’s stomach. Fuck Amy. Not everyone could quietly hook their way through college debt and then apply for jobs telling people they took a few years “to volunteer in Africa”. Other people's lives were messier and more complicated than Working Class Barbie. He wasn't  _scared,_ he was realistic in ways she never, ever had to be.

“You’re going to be late to work.” It came out much softer, weaker, than he wanted it to. Amy _tsked._

“Dan-”

He picked up the pace, whipped his half full coffee in the nearest trashcan, and broke into a run, all the way back to the Metro.

* * *

He really wished he’d kept his coffee. Fuming at Amy and the world in general the entire subway ride home drained him. He barely had the clarity of mind to plug in his phone, still dead from the night before, before he passed out on his couch, still in his grimy workout clothes.

After what felt like minutes, but judging by the sunlight streaming in had been much longer, he was pulled from his sleep by a sharp rapping on his front door. He went to answer it, massaging his jaw and trying to ignore how uncomfortably warm and sweaty his whole body felt. He opened the door without peering through the peephole.

“Mr. Egan?”

His veins froze, and his nails dug into the edge of the door so hard the paint nearly cracked. Two men were standing in the hallway outside his apartment. One was clean cut and tall, wearing a dark suit. The other was Congressman Furlong. The man’s face was impossible to read, but Furlong was grinning like a cat picking feathers out from between it’s teeth.

“I’m-I’m Dan.” He said. He couldn’t remember how to blink at a normal rate.

“That’s not what we asked, pretty boy.” Furlong said. “Are you Dan Egan? Or Dan Fitzgerald? Because I heard you’ve been going by all sorts of Irish nonsense.”

Dan squeezed the edge of the door, quickly, almost imperceptibly, an action like taking a breath without giving himself away. He had a trick...well, if he quoted his freshman year psych professor, it was technically called _disassociating._

He used it when a client punched him after a blowjob, or when one confided they needed him to piss himself in order to come, or even just when some self-hating senator called him a whore in a particularly nasty way. He’d used it since fifth grade, when Bobby Gianelli from his neighborhood dared him to bash a stray dog’s head in with a rock, and he did. He took a second and mentally stepped back, letting his body and it’s much calmer autopilot slide into the front seat and just do what needed to be done. Click.

“Can I ask what this is regarding?” He smiled serenely. Furlong frowned.

“Don’t be fucking cute with us-”

The suit stepped forward. “I’m Agent Collins from the Federal Bureau of Investigation, working with Senator Furlong. We’re investigating the stabbing of his aid Will Franklin by a sex worker.”

“Oh, that’s terrible.” Dan dropped his hands and let his shoulder fall against the doorframe. _Don’t cross your arms, that’s defensive._ Agent Collins nodded, his face remaining neutral in a way that would have reminded Dan unpleasantly of Mr. Davison if Automatic Dan hadn’t already pushed him out of the driver’s seat.

“So you are Dan Egan? Or Dan Fitzgerald?”

“Egan is my dad’s last name.” He said. “We have a tough relationship so I changed it.”

“Bullshit.” Furlong spat. Agent Collins held out a hand. Dan just raised an eyebrow.

“Is the FBI booking people for not getting along with their fathers? Guess Jon Stewart better run.” It was a little too snarky, he knew it as soon as he said it, but he couldn’t resist, not with Furlong’s face getting so red and scrunchy. If he couldn’t be a shark, he was at least going to be tantalizing chum.

Agent Collins took a step closer. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that night, would you? You attended the gala for Children’s Hunger at the EEOB shortly before the altercation.”

God, that night with Congresswoman Goodwin. That felt like a million years ago. “I don’t recall anything suspicious at this time, no.”

“Did you see a woman, caucasian, with brown hair dyed neon green at the ends?” Collins recited, not even consulting a piece of paper with Will’s description on it. How many escorts and blabbermouths had he already visited? How many had cracked?

Dan shrugged again, looking up at his ceiling with practiced desperation, a civilian trying to help the good officer of the law. “God, sorry, no. I was just out for a night with my colleague Barbara.”

Furlong scoffed, but Agent Collins didn’t glance over at the noise. “And what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a consultant on domestic policy.” He said.

"Like fuck you are." Furlong glared. Dan met it with wide-eyed innocence.

“I’ve got a diploma from Cornell and everything, you want me to dig it out of my closet?”

“What, is it buried under your fluffy handcuffs?”

“I’m sorry, I’m confused as to why a United States Congressman is standing in my hallway implying something unsavory.” Dan addressed Agent Collins, like the subject of the sentence wasn’t within earshot.

Agent Collins nodded, his eyes sweeping over Dan’s sweats, his front hall littered with sneakers and a few books he’d picked up at the thrift shop and been too lazy to put on his shelf. Dan knew he was looking for anything outwardly hooker-ish, and thanked the universe he wasn’t the type to run business out of his own bedroom.

“He’s concerned with bringing the assailant of his staff member to justice, as we all are. Here is my card, call if you remember anything.” He shucked it out of suit pocket, pressing it into Dan’s hand. Dan nodded.

“Will do. Sorry I couldn’t be more help.”

Agent Collins smiled tightly, glanced around Dan’s front hall again, and turned to leave. Furlong pivoted halfway around before leaving in, disgusting spittle dangling too close to Dan’s face.

“Yeah, keeping smiling, Red-Light Ken. That’ll get you a good husband in Petersberg Low.” He grabbed the knob and slammed it shut behind him, a faint echo reverberating in the still air.

Automatic Dan made it all the way back to his bedroom, checked his still charging phone - 12:06 PM, no messages - before something came rushing back into the foreground.

Sue hadn’t called at her usual time.

And Dan couldn’t breathe.

“Hello?”

“Why the _fuck_ are their G-Men banging down my door?” He gasped, feeling wildly for a grip on the wall next to his bookcase. His mouth was filling with spit but his throat was still rough and dry, like he was going to vomit. Oh God, he hated throwing up. He hated Sue. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Because they paid me a visit too, and anyone with common sense would know they’re watching phone lines right now.” Sue said. If Furlong and Agent Collins rattled her, it wasn’t showing in her voice. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, it’s just going to make things worse.”

“Don’t-You don’t-” He sputtered, spinning out, and all he could hear was Sue rolling her eyes.

“Thank you for checking in, Dan. I recommend taking a long drive somewhere this weekend.”

And she hung up. It wasn’t enough to assuage his panic, but he knew she’d never answer him a second time. He barely resisted the urge to claw at his own throat, flicking his phone screen with his thumb as he searched his contacts for someone, anyone to call.

He sure as shit couldn’t call his mom. Amy wouldn’t answer him in the middle of the workday, and he didn't really want to talk to that know-it-all right now, anyway.

He...he...goddamn it.

“Heyyyy Danny boy, already back for more?” Jonah drawled, picking up on the first ring.

Dan tried to speak, but  his lips felt strangely tingly and paralyzed.

“Dan? Are you butt-dialing me, dumbass?” Still, nothing came out. “...Fuck, is something wrong? Is someone fucking with you?”

“I’m gonna get fucking busted, I-I-I-” his mouth tasted like pennies, or maybe blood, maybe both. He sunk, back sliding against the wall, knees buckling. “Fuck, I live in Foggy Bottom, are you around?”

“Yeah, Jesus, should I call the police?”

“ _NO_. No, just…” Dan barely remembered his address, stammering it out and hanging up, letting his phone fall to the groan, letting the humiliating request go unsaid yet deafening.

After fifteen minutes, or possibly an hour, he couldn’t really tell, time wasn't moving properly today, he heard someone knocking on the door, once, twice, then flinging it open. Shit, he hadn’t even locked it, how fucking careless and stupid was he?

“Dan? Are you decent?” Jonah called, his voice getting louder as he walked deeper into the apartment. He appeared in Dan’s bedroom doorway, bizarrely, in a tuxedo, a wavy black tie undone around his collar. Dan wondered briefly if the lack of oxygen was making him hallucinate. For example, Jonah drawing even and crouching down in front of him, something akin to concern on his face - that was definitely not happening. “Shit. Who died?”

“I-I shouldn’t have called you, I’m fine, Furlong brought some FBI guy by-”

“ _Fuck_.” Jonah shifted closer, touching Dan’s arm. He yanked it away but Jonah didn’t retreat.

“No, it’s-I just…I lost my grip on the wheel for a second.” He smacked his lips together, and pressed his hands hard to the ground with vague allusions of standing up. "I’m fine, go back to work.”

Jonah swiped his bangs, a slight pink appearing on his sharp cheekbones. “They, um- I got the skills of ten guys, I tore through everything the Veep threw at me.”

“She sent you home, didn’t she?” He managed to crack.

“Hey, it was a slow day!” Jonah snapped, but he didn’t really seem annoyed. He collapsed from his haunches into cross-legged, looking like an overdressed elementary schooler. He reached for Dan again and grabbed his hand, enveloped it, really, in his own giant mitt, and ran his thumb up and down the palm of Dan's hand. "Take a breath, man, a big one." He traced his life lines, then delicately circled to the fleshy heel and wrist. 

And Dan slowly began to breath again.

“Why are you dressed up?” He asked a few minutes later, when he had enough of his bearings not to just say "thank you".

“What?” Jonah seemed momentarily confused before touching the bow tie hanging loose around his neck. “Oh, I have to go to my cousin’s dumb wedding tomorrow, I was making sure this bad boy still fit before I packed it.”

“Where is it?” Dan asked, searching for anything to detract from himself, his humiliating meltdown. He always wanted to crawl into a hole as soon as he reached calm again.

“Boston. Do you want to lie down or something-”

“I’m fine. Bride or groom? Or whatever we’re saying to be gender neutral these days?”

Jonah chuckled. “Bride. Her name’s Lucy, and she gives the straights a bad name.” His eyes lit up. “Hey, you wanna come?”

“What?”

“Be my plus one! Dude, that would be fucking baller. I’d pay and everything. Can you do that? Cross state lines?”

“I’m not a child of pending divorce, Jonah.” Dan said. “I can...I can do whatever I want.” It’d been a long time since he’d gotten out of D.C., let alone for something beyond having to visit his mother or get his tonsils removed by a discount dentist in Northern Virginia. “You’re buying a first class fucking ticket though. What kind of clothes do I need to pack?”

"Whatever you need to look sexy.” Jonah stood up and offered Dan his hand, pulling him into standing. “This is gonna be a fucking riot, getting four thousand miles away from this bullshit.”

“I don’t think that’s right.” It was far, though. And Sue _did_ tell him to go far. “Gimme an hour. Let's get the hell out of Dodge.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This installment was originally going to be longer, but finals and work got me like x_x. I guess that means there'll just have to be more chapters.

“You've never ridden first class before?” Jonah asked as Dan struggled to push his bulky backpack into the overhead bin. He reached over him and forced it through with one hard shove. Dan flushed, but only a little. Jonah having that amount of strength in his deceptively noodly arms was sort of hot. He sat down, relishing how far he could stretch his legs out from the plush pleather window seat without kicking the person in front of him. 

“I rode business class, it’s basically the same thing.” Coincidentally, that had been the only other time a client had taken him on a trip. One of his more frequent clients, an ACLU lawyer named Rob, had taken him to Miami for a long weekend a few years back. That had actually been a blast. Rob was an out-and-proud fiftysomething who used to call Dan “kid” and buy him fancy vibrators. _This job wasn’t bad then, h_ e reminded himself as he looked out the window onto the tarmac. _And it’s not bad now._ He was already feeling calmer, the farther away from his apartment and D.C. proper they got. Agent Collins, Furlong, all the bullshit with Sue and Amy didn't seem so real and terrifying when the pretty flight attendant offered them champagne and told them the flight to Boston would only take about ninety minutes.   

Jonah scoffed and sat down next to him, ripping open a package of sugar-coated gummy somethings he’d picked up at a gas station and gotten into a fight with a TSA agent about bringing onboard. “It is _not_ the same. We got hot towels fo’ days up in here, bitches.”

Dan rolled his eyes. “So, who's gonna be at this thing? Will they also be talking in dated urban slang?” 

“Oh, you know, they’re normal. Luce is marrying some investment banker from Wellington-Essex. A shitton of Kanes work in D.C. you probably know them.” Jonah said, popping a gummy worm into his mouth. Something in Dan’s chest seized.

“In like the private sector or…?”

“No fuzz, unclench your b-hole. Lucy’s one of the only cool ones, though. We grew up together, we’re both only children so she’s kind of like a big sister who buys you weed and doesn't care if you score with her hot friends.” He slurped up another worm with almost disgusting fluidity. “She does PR or something for my Uncle Jeff, you remember him.”

“...yeah.” Dan let the word fall flat, let the awkward memories flood back in and fill with color in both their minds, against his better judgement. The basic rule of escort conversation was to keep it light and sexy: no talking about the wife, opposing politics, or how much the client had screwed one over when they were both twenty-one in promising an uncle's career-saving moves they never followed up on. "That is what siblings do, in my experience." He cracked half heartedly.

Jonah shifted his jaw, and coughed in a very unconvincing manner. “What about you, you got any?” He said thickly, forking more gummies into his mouth.

“One.” Dan said, hesitating before elaborating with the truth. “I have a little brother, Dave. He’s twenty-five.” 

“Dan and Dave? Your mom only know five letters?” Dan rolled his eyes and Jonah started messing with his phone, smiling at his own bad joke. “You guys close?”

A short, barking laugh escaped Dan’s lips without conscious thought. He lifted a hand over his mouth, too late to stop the ugly sound. “Sorry. No, we are absolutely not.”

“That sucks. He a Republican or something?” Jonah asked, his eyes still on his screen. 

Dan laughed again, much softer, casting his eyes out the plane window, where the ATC guys in neon vests were starting to wave the plane clear. “You know, I actually don’t know? He’s not political. He sells houses in the town where we grew up. We’re just...very different.”

“Dude, he looks just like you. Maybe cuter.” Jonah held up his phone, where he’d clearly just spent the last minute searching Dave Egan on Facebook. Dan whacked his arm, sending a picture of his brother’s smiling face tumbling sideways.

“Shut that off, we’re taxiing!” He hissed. Jonah waved a large hand in dismissal.

“Dude, that’s a myth, the government just wants all the sheeple to think phones can bring down planes.”

“And you’re the one they trust with this confidential conspiracy information?”

“Damn straight! Jonah Ryan’s got eyes in the fucking CIA!”

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to turn that off.” The stewardess said, tapping Jonah lightly on the shoulder. He jumped and flushed.

“Okay, s-sorry.” He fumbled for the kill switch and made a face as Dan laughed again, turning towards the window. He felt his smile fade as he watched the ground fell farther and farther away, the familiar gnaw of anxiety climbing up his throat for reasons that had nothing to do with his aversion to heights.

He couldn’t remember the last time he talked to a client, to anyone after Russ for that matter, about Dave. He was slipping, forgetting this was a job, forgetting people got to know Dan Fitzgerald, not Dan Egan. As the plane hit cruising altitude and made it’s way up the east coast, he kept the conversation to the minimum, the bland, all the while watching Jonah eat pounds of sugar that never seemed to stick to his lanky frame, his hazel eyes fixed on his iPad, only flicking up to smile at Dan.

Oh no.

* * *

The Boston Harbor Hotel was _gorgeous._

Dan had spent a fair amount of time in luxury hotels and resorts, and he wasn’t one of those guys who got obsessed over types of stone and How Much Do You Think This Chandelier Costs, but even he had to admit the Kanes had picked a fantastic spot for a fall wedding. The hotel was right on the ocean, and the breeze coming off it, onto the domed pavilion where the staff was setting up for tomorrow’s festivities, gave the whole area a crisp, tastefully windswept feeling. The room Jonah booked was just as plush and posh, a queen-sized bed parallel to a big bay glass pane. 

“I can see fucking sailboats out this window.” Dan said, leaning against the cream-colored curtains. He immediately wished he hadn’t sworn; the caliber of the hotel was already making him feel a little like Rochester trash. But Jonah only laughed.

“It’s baller, isn’t it? I’m gonna go downstairs and say hi to Lucy.” He reached into his suitcase, open on the bed, and pulled out a opaque bottle of wine. “And this is to get her off my nutsack for missing the rehearsal dinner. You wanna take a shower or something?”

“Oh.” Dan face felt slightly warmer. “Yeah, sure. Go mingle.” He smiled in what he hoped was a convincing manner until Jonah was out the door.

It took him a moment to identify the heavyweight in his stomach as disappointment. It wasn’t a big deal, he reminded himself as he walked into the bathroom, as gleaming and ivory-colored as the rest of the suite.  He took a few minutes to play with the knobs and showerhead before deciding to plug it and just take a bath. He was kind of used to them.

He let the warm water and fancy, flower-scented soap rise around him, resting his head against the tiled wall. He had a lot of problems with the movie _Pretty Woman_ , but one of the bigger ones was that it perpetuated the idea that Johns actually took their escorts out to meet their fucking parents. Escorts were dirty little secrets when it came to someone’s family, especially when they were the same gender as the client. That's just the way it was, even in an increasingly progressive society.

So it wasn’t a big deal. It was smart, actually, to keep a low profile, hide out like a kept boy in the present climate. Dan closed his eyes and submerged his head in the rosy water for a minute. It did feel good.

“Scooch over, that looks fucking awesome.” Jonah’s voice broke his delicate relaxation twenty minutes later. He didn’t open his eyes, but heard the bathroom door open, Jonah kicking off his shoes and undoing his belt. "My back is fucking killing me from those airplane seats. You'd think first class would know how to cater to someone without using, like, doll seats."

Dan opened his eyes and wordlessly leaned forward as Jonah shucked the rest of his clothes and awkwardly settled into the water, his back against the wall, his long legs looping Dan’s, his dick brushing against the small of his back. "I missed you down there, by the way." His big, flat feet jammed up against the other end of the tub, making it seem much more cramped and intimate than two naked people semi-spooning already did. "Everyone else here is so fucking lame. I don’t understand why half my uncles don’t just punch themselves in the face.” He kissed Dan’s temple, but withdrew quickly when Dan still didn’t respond. “What, Ariel, did someone steal your voice?"

“If you wanted me down there you should have asked.” Dan shrugged, his shoulder rubbing against Jonah’s chest hair. Jonah’s arms stopped moving.

“Dude, did you want to come with me?”

“Fuck no.” Dan said, twisting around to look at him more fully. “I-I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page for what you’re looking for this weekend. If you want me to just be waiting here for you, you should've said."

Jonah swept his bangs with a wet hand, causing them to stick against his forehead. “I was trying to protect you from some boring-ass wedding talk. This isn’t like...fuck, you’re not my _slave_.” His voice dropped as his Adam’s apple bobbed uncomfortably.

"What the fuck?" Dan pulled away. This was so stupid, why did he even bring it up? 

“No, shit, that’s not what I- You can go wherever you want.” He let his hand drop back down with a soft splash as his crooked grin started growing across his face again. “And you can come whenever I want.”

Dan dug his shoulder a little most insistently into Jonah’s sternum before turning back around. “Oh, Fuck off.” But he settled back against Jonah's chest.

“You love it.” Jonah taunted. He reached out to run his fingers through Dan’s damp hair, thumbing the soft, rounded top of his ear. The gesture was so gentle and out of character Dan barely managed to restrain himself from jerking away. Instead he raised his hips, readjusting, before grinding back down on Jonah’s crotch. The overgrown teenage boy beneath him started getting hard right on cue, his hands scrabbling for purchase around Dan’s biceps, fingers sinking down into his skin.

“Fuck, Danny.” He gasped in Dan’s ear, and Dan smiled, letting out his own perfunctory moan as Jonah’s hands slid down to Dan’s elbows, down to grip his hips as Dan rubbed the cleft of his ass against his cock. For about a minute there was no talking, just little wet gasps, the occasional clumsy swipe up Dan’s own pulsing dick, “Fucking GOD.” Jonah moaned, letting his face drop into Dan’s shoulder as he came undone, the way they all did, like clockwork.

“Worth every penny, right?” Dan joked, a little breathy as Jonah softened underneath him. He lifted himself a few inches out of the now disgusting lukewarm water - no condom-humping was one of the more effective moves in his arsenal, but definitely risky for someone who enjoyed not having syphilis. Jonah grinned and made to stand up too, accidentally knocking Dan against the side of the tub.

“Babe, you’re priceless. Get up, you don’t wanna get pregnant yet.” He winked. “We’re going for round two in the shower in ten.” He smacked Dan’s wet ass as he climbed past him to drain the bath. Dan sucked in a short breath. clutched the porcelain edge to steady himself, feeling slightly liquefied and considerably less spiky than half an hour before, his own half-hard dick aside. Jonah making nasty jokes was infinitely better than...whatever had been happening before. His perverse boyfriend roleplay or whatever. 

Still though, Jonah better not figure out he had a thing for being spanked. That was just a bridge too far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun facts -  
> 1) This is the Boston Harbor Hotel and it's the fanciest place your author, who is born of Southie trash, knew growing up. https://phgcdn.com/images/uploads/BOSHA/corporatemasthead/BOSHA-HotelExterior.jpg  
> 2) Me and the squad have always headcanoned Dave as Ben Feldman and Rob as peak-Jimmy McGill-era Bob Odenkirk so, like, have fun with that.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this at three in the morning after studying for a final for three hours, so if it is a mess, I blame the college education system.

They barely got to the patio in time for the ceremony. Dan’s hair was still damp after shower sex, which involved shower-blowing Jonah and awarding himself a gold star for not choking. They'd hardly put their clothes back on when Jonah grabbed Dan’s hand in his - fuck it, Jonah had the best kind of hand, warm without being sweaty - and dragged him down four flights of stairs and outside, down the left aisle just before the priest started thanking everyone for gathering here today.

Jonah was a groomsman, he bragged as they nearly tumbled into the lobby. Dan figured that explained why his tux actually fit him - the guy had broad shoulders and a nice ass, but those horrific navy blazers he usually wore left him swimming. Dan allowed himself to admire these newly displayed assets as he slipped into vacant seat in the third row.

Jonah sprinted up to join the line of men in identical outfits, all of whom rolled their eyes as he did so. Even amongst his family, he was still the tallest by at least a head - only cementing Dan’s belief he was a genetic mutation from a crazed scientist’s lab. 

 _“Tsk,_ I knew Lucy shouldn’t have asked him to be up there.” came a tired voice behind Dan. It was older, slightly high pitched, pinched. “You know that he didn’t even show up for the rehearsal dinner?”

Dan willed his shoulderblades not to join together as he identified it; Jeff Kane. Jonah’s mover-shaker uncle who was probably capable of remembering Dan from his fuck up five years before. Movers and shakers always did, that’s how they got the title. He looked straight ahead, focusing on Jonah, who made goofy faces at him as his cousin Lucy began to recite her vows. He found himself remembering something Jonah had said a few weeks before in mockery.  _Relax Danny, no one here cares who you are._

“Christ, that was so boring. I can’t feel my fucking feet. C'mon, I need a drink.” Jonah snaked a hand around Dan’s waist and half-tugged him upright twenty minutes later, joining the crowd milling towards the reception area. He didn’t let go as they walked back over the planks, towards the four-person band wheedling out cheesy pop music.

Dan raised an eyebrow as he nodded to the pads of Jonah's fingers drumming to the beat against his hip. “Is this okay? Y'know, in front of everyone?"

Jonah rolled his eyes. “Dude, right over there is my cousin Willa, and that Indian - dots, not feathers - lady is her wife. My mom’s brother has been living with his “roommate” Robert for thirty years. As long as you don’t get caught with pics of your dick in a congressman’s inbox, no one in my family cares who you stick it in.” 

“Nice, really fucking eloquent and PC there.” Dan said, but didn’t resist when Jonah clutched his hip tighter. A warm glow was coming from delicate fairy lights strung by the dozens across the cavernous ceiling of the reception hall, making everything glint yellow, the champagne, the metal chairs, the air around them. 

“Hey! Luce!” Jonah shouted, waving his free hand like a drowning man. Not that he needed to; a good chunk of the guests were already glancing over at the guy sticking out like a skyscraper with barely suppressed annoyance. Dan got it, Jonah was still...Jonah. Lucy proved to be the exception, however, as she squealed and stumbled towards them, an armful of her $17,000 skirt bunched up in the crook of her elbow. Dan could smell wine on her breath and she nearly crashed into him, steadying herself against his shoulder.

 _“Hellooo_  handsome.” She grinned, her eyes flicking up and down Dan’s body. “Damn, JJ, I should’ve gone husband shopping in D.C. too.” 

“Fuck Lucy, shut up.” Jonah hissed, blotchy pink patches appearing on his neck and cheeks. Dan felt himself heat up a little too, but smiled anyway.

“Sorry, I try to wait until a girl been married for at least twenty-four hours before I make a move. I’m classy like that.” He read her, dialed to the charm that she’d respond to best. His instincts, however shaky, still existed inside him.

 _“HA!_ He’s funny JJ. Funny and cute.” She leaned in, clutching Jonah’s lapel for balance. “Daddy and James both say I shouldn’t be drinking but it’s my fucking wedding. And I read one bottle of wine a day is actually good  _for_ _a baby._ ” She slapped a hand on her own abdomen, which Dan noticed for the first time had a slight swell nothing to do with how much she’d drank. Jonah connected it a little slower, but then started laughing.

“Shit Luce, you’re such a whore.”

“Nuh-uh, I’m a properly married God-fearing American. Check it.” She thrust out her ring finger and grinned too widely, baring her teeth at her cousin. Dan kind of liked her. Her whole self-aware slut thing would have been catnip to him back in high school.

“Lucy, darling.” The reedy voice was back, and this time Dan managed to seem unaffected by Jeff, who crossed the parquet dance floor and gently but firmly took hold of his daughter’s arm. He was a small man, probably a whole foot shorter than his nephew. His tailored gray suit blended with his equally washed out hair, and gave him the appearance of a steel bullet. “It’s time for pictures.” 

“Ugh, we already took a million this morning.” Lucy sighed. Jeff’s small wiry features turned to stone, so quickly and completely Dan felt a chill through the core of body. 

“Lucy Amelia Kane, do not make this a bigger spectacle than it already is.” He said, low and quickly, his eyes flicking around for a moment to see if anyone had heard him, before landing on Jonah and Dan. “Ah, there’s young Jonah.” He said mildly. “And...a friend?”

Dan swallowed, barely resisting the childish urge to hide behind Jonah, bury his head in the crook side of his shoulder. But he managed. “Dan Fitzgerald, hi.”

Jeff took his extended hand, his features not softening behind his round glances. If he recognized Dan, he didn't show it in his face.

“Jeff Kane.”

“I know.” He blurted.

“You know?”

“He-you’re the father of the bride, Uncle Jeff, you’re like Kanye at this party- or, you know, Kanye West’s...dad.” Jonah sputtered out. Lucy snorted without opening her mouth, and when Jeff gave her another reproachful look, she held her hands up in surrender.

“I’m going! Come on, JJ.” She sot to cheered with fake enthusiasm. “Let’s go take some grownup prom pictures that every pretends aren’t _weiiirdddd!”_

Jonah shoved his glass of champagne into Dan’s hand with a slightly panicked look as Lucy dragged him towards the wall of bay windows, leaving Jeff and Dan face to face.

“How do you know our Jonah?” Jeff asked. 

Dan felt his jaw lock up, and huffed out quickly through his nose until it relaxed. “Work.” he said, taking a swig from Jonah’s flute. Sue didn’t allow him to drink on the job, but Sue was also four hundred miles away. He could manage half a glass of champagne and still stay sharp. It might even steady him, in his current state.

"I see." Jeff said, in his even, reedy voice, before shuffling backwards to greet another relative, his eyes still on Dan.

A bouncy pop song blended into an old timey waltz and then back again. Little kids chased each other around and tugged at table clothes. Jonah got drinks from the open bar and into a fight with his fifteen-year-old cousin Nathan. Dan dodged the photographer and Jeff and anyone else who may have recognized him from his past or his present - he was pretty sure he’d fucked one of Jonah’s aunts who worked at the Department of Agriculture for a grand back in June. 

“And now, the new Mr. and Mrs. James Robertson invite anyone who wants to to join them on the dance floor!” The guitarist, a twentysomething girl with pinned back blonde hair announced. A few of Lucy’s equally skinny and glamourous friends took to the floor, followed by an elderly couple who had to be their grandparents. The guitarist began to softly strum, singing the first few notes of “Unchained Melody.”

_"Oh, my love, my darling..."_

Dan feigned interest for a few seconds, just in case anyone was watching him, and then squeezed his way through the tables and back out in the open air, with as little disturbance as he could manage. In the harbor, dinner cruises sluggishly lumbered in ovals away from the pier and back. The sounds of the city were muffled somewhat by the waves lapping against the wooden, algae covered docks. 

Russ had asked Dan to marry him. Just a few months after his twenty-second birthday, when he was getting ready to graduate undergrad at Cornell. And Dan said yes. He swallowed and let Russ put a ring on his finger and fuck him four times in one night. But by morning all the murmuring about Russ getting a job teaching in the city and living there together and being  _husbands_  just felt so stagnant. Stuck and motionless and _forever._ So he took him to Applebee’s and gave back the wedding band and ran away. 

He never told anyone about that. And he never stopped running.

 _"...I've hungered for your touch_  
_a long, lonely time..."_

His throat was starting to feel tight, too small a passageway for any air or words to get through. What if that had been his one chance to be happy, to be normal? What if he had fucked it up and this was life now, selling his body until no one wanted it anymore or the feds caught up to him and locked him up? 

 _"...time goes by so slowly_  
_and time can do so much..."_

His mind screamed at him to move now, to get somewhere with more air, claw his throat open if need be, but he knew that would only cause more unwanted attention, tweaking out at the edge of a wedding reception. He balled his fists as tightly as he could, his knuckles trembling. He forced himself to look back at Jonah, who was watching the couples dance, his big hands clasped in front of him, his slightly wrinkled shirt collar bobbing up a little when a strong gust off the sea hit it. His weird, hazel eyes, which narrowed, puzzled when he caught Dan focusing on him like a sniper’s scope. Dan tried to smile, tried to be a goddamn professional at the only thing he’d ever been able to keep up consistently, but he felt it come off as more of a grimace. 

_"...are you still mine?"_

Lucy was leaning forward on the floor, kissing her brand-new husband as Kanes and other various somebodies smiled and golf-clapped, and he knew he should be in there too, being another pretty face in the crowd like he was paid for, but he couldn’t do it. His toes curled inside his shoes, planted on the ground as though they were nailed there. He just kept staring at the ocean, thinking about how far he’d have to swim to get away from his life. 

"... _I need your love,_ _I need your love, Godspeed your love_ to _me."_

“Hey, you with me, dude?” Jonah’s voice was in his ear, and it took Dan a moment to realize he had walked out after him, slinging an arm around Dan’s neck, his breath hot and boozy on the side of his face. He that same, paraconcerned look in his eyes Dan had seen back at his apartment. God, Jonah fucking Ryan thought he was crazy. 

“Yeah.” He blinked, smacked his lips together. “Yeah, I’m good. Needed some air.”

“I called for you like three times, Uncle Jeff told me to keep it down.”

“Sorry. Just zoned out for a second.”

Jonah’s eyebrows settled back down in understanding. “Dude, I do that all the time. Hashtag That ADHD Life.” He jerked his head back towards the yellow lights, some bizarre imitation of wistfulness in his expression as another fucking slow song came on. “You wanna dance?”

Dan pressed his lips together and shook his head. _Stupid, what happened to the customer is always right?_ Dan was so good at his job. He wished he was worse.

“You want like...an Advil or something?”

He shook his head again. The salt in the air was stinging his eyes. Jonah’s hands were on his hips, rubbing gently.

“You wanna get out of here?”

Dan nodded, tearing his eyes away from the water. The ocean around this place was giving him the fucking creeps. “Fuck yeah.”

* * *

They stumbled back into the dark suite like a scene in a goddamn romcom, breaths coming out short and uneven in between kisses on each other’s jaws and neck. Dan let his hands dig into Jonah’s back a little too hard, did the same with his hips, then his thighs. Jonah whimpered into his hair as Dan thumbed the cleft of his ass through his pants. Dan grinned, tried to enjoy the moment even though his heart was still pounding.

“You want my hand up your ass,  _JJ?”_ His own thighs bumped up against the side of the bed as Jonah attacked the buttons on Dan’s pants, then his own. “I bet you’d come just from being fingered, that’s how desperate-”

“Dan, can we…” Jonah huffed and shook his head. “Just shut up.” 

He pressed forward, and Dan sat down hard on the bed, flopping onto his back. He went pink, well on his way to scarlet, as Jonah pulled off his underwear, undid his dress shirt and let it fall from his shoulders. He sucked a spot on the base of Dan’s throat.

“Why...can’t you just...pretend...fuck…” He muttered, in between placing hickey that had yet to bloom, that just lay wet. “You and me.” He said, nonsensically, and Dan threw his head back and closed his eyes, let himself catch his breath as Jonah got a condom unrolled, wincing a little as the latex came in contact with his sensitive cock, already red and full, brushing against his own navel. “You’re gonna take _my_ fingers, I know you like ‘em.” Jonah mumbled and he bore down at an awkward angle, balanced on his forearms on either side of Dan’s shoulders. “Legs open, Danny.”

Dan was pretty good at self-defense, it was part of the job. Most of the time, if a client started talking rough, he went along with it, but once and awhile there’d be someone with something dark in them, who’d forget Dan was providing a service, who’d talk to him like he was their toy. That’s when he’d use his legs to kick them in the groin and then elbow them off of him while they swore and recoiled. And the run. Again with the fucking running. 

For the first time since he’d known him, he didn’t feel the least bit like a kick was coming Jonah’s way.

“Yeah, gimme your fingers, fill me up.” And they were a little dry, a little tough going in, but Jonah kept kissing little spots on his stomach and thighs as he worked him open, his lips brushing against faded freckles Dan tried like hell to get rid of with no avail. He canted his hips up onto his thick fingers, focusing on the sensation, on how it grounded him, somehow, and suddenly they were gone, replaced by Jonah pressing into him, faster than normal - God, they had a _normal_ \- but not met with much resistance.

"Take it Danny, you love it." Jonah mumbled, and his face was brushing against Dan's, his eyelashes in extreme focus, and it didn't feel like they were using this as a way to argue or fight, it felt...too close for that.

 _“Fuck.”_ Dan whispered, and that couldn’t be his voice, it was barely a voice at all, it was just a word melting in between his teeth, and Jonah’s hands were clutching the his legs behind his knees and pushing them harder against his chest each time he thrust into him, his mouth half open, his dark hair falling away from his forehead.

“God - you’re so fucking pretty - _fuckfuckfuck.”_ Jonah’s words started slurring together as his rhythm picked up speed as well. He let go off one of Dan’s legs to start stroking him off, accomplish some sort of ridiculous synced orgasm like a Danielle Steel novel, but Dan kept his knees crunched up, opening himself to anything and everything Jonah wanted to do to him, anything he wanted from him. 

“ _FuckohgoddanshitshitiloveohohGOD._ ” Jonah shuddered and moaned, loudly, even more loudly than he usually spoke, which was saying something. He came, grabbing the side of Dan’s head and Dan let him, Dan let him hold him through his orgasm, and when Jonah caught his breath a minute later and slid like dripping water in between Dan’s thighs, finishing him off with that big hot mouth, Dan let him do that too.

He could still see the lights of the wedding as Jonah curled up beside him, his sweaty face against his shoulder, his mile long legs hooked around the bottom of his own.

“How much you wanna bet Lucy is passed out at the head table?” Jonah cracked. Dan murmured in assent, too drained to joke in return. Jonah pushed his bangs back, making them spike awkwardly again. 

“Hey, just so you know, I was just fucking with you about not, um, you know, with your fingers...” He said, his voice getting lower as the sentence went on. “I’m not one of those assholes who thinks bottoming is for fags for something.”

“Having sex with another man is always a little faggy.” Dan managed, despite the sour taste the word always left in his mouth. It brought back too many unpleasant middle school memories. It was important to match a client’s dialect, however; it made them feel more at home. Jonah laughed, his stomach shaking. 

“Fuck yeah.” He held up a hand and Dan limply slapped it, smirking. “I just...God, you looked so good I had to get in you.” He sighed and rolled onto his back. “You can do that, fuck me, if you want. Does that cost extra?”

Dan pushed himself upright just enough so he could look down at Jonah’s flushed, triumphant face. His chest felt tight, but without the heavy weight that usually accompanied it. On the contrary, something inside him felt light. “I mean…” He shrugged. “I can probably give you a freebie. Frequent flyer miles or whatever.”

Jonah’s face split open again, still crooked and beaming, and the strange floaty feeling in Dan’s chest only became more intense. _“Yee-Yeah!_ Jonah Ryan be flyin’, mile high club all day.”

Dan dropped back against the bedclothes with a chuckle, his skin feeling hot against the sheets. “You’re a fucking moron, Jonah.”

"Hey, watch that mouth or I might have to stuff something in it." He leered, leaning over the side of the bed. For a moment Dan thought he was getting dressed. He hated himself for being mildly disappointed. Now that Jonah had offered the idea of wanting to switch, his mind was consumed with little else but the image of Jonah sinking down onto his cock, eyes welling from the sensation...but Jonah only straightened up and handed Dan the plastic room key.

“Can you go get some ice from down the hall? I need to mini-bar reload if we’re gonna go again.”

“Yeah, okay.” Dan was feeling kind of wiped himself, and he wasn’t go to let Jonah walk away from this weekend thinking he was some sort of subpar top.

“There’s some bombass robes in the bathroom.”

“Yeah, over my dead body am I walking around in a hotel robe.” Dan fished his pants off the ground and hopped into them, pausing only to allow Jonah to lean up and kiss the corner of his mouth.

He felt oddly calm, as he watched the metal tin fill with crushed ice cubes. The after-sex buzz usually left him moody and sleepy, and he kept waiting for the drop to hit him. It wasn’t. Jesus, he must be losing his mind even faster than he thought, he mused, only half concerned.

He turned back towards the bedroom with the full bucket in hand when he suddenly realized he was not alone in the hallway.

“Fuck! Hey, J-Mr. Kane, I didn’t- I didn’t see you there.” He held the ice closer to his chest, the chill sinking into his skin. Jeff, from where he stood just a few yard from Jonah’s room, didn’t alter his expression. 

“Good evening Dan.” He said. “I think you and I should chat.”


	14. Chapter 14

“Yeah, sure.” Dan resisted the urge to hug the ice bucket closer to his chest, like a shield, and placed it delicately back under the dispenser. “What’s up?”

“You’re from New York, aren’t you?” Jeff asked, though it didn’t sound much like a question.

“Born and raised.”

Jeff smiled, thin and watery. “What borough? We have some Kanes in Brooklyn and Manhattan.”

“...I’m actually from upstate.” He ground out. That fucker knew, he wouldn’t have asked if he hadn’t already known the answer, these power players with rarely used law degrees never did. There wasn’t a doubt in Dan’s mind that Jeff had the address of his family’s shitty apartment in Rochester written down somewhere. He just wanted to make Dan say it.

Indeed, Jeff pressed his lips together and nodded slightly. “I remember you weren’t always a consultant, were you?” He pivoted slightly, so he could look Dan head on. "You did something at the White House."

Dan’s bare toes curled under his feet, rubbing uncomfortably against the carpet. “I was an intern, a long time ago. Besides, your nephew is the one-”

“Did you know Jonah has dyslexia?” Jeff interrupted, not breaking his gaze on Dan.

Dan blinked, bemused. “I didn’t.” _Although it would explain why he texted like a twelve-year-old girl in 2004._

“ADHD too. It took half a dozen tutors and a few choice phone calls to get him into Dartmouth. Getting him a placement - even the three-week one - in the White House was a herculean task.”

“...I’m sorry that he has learning disabilities?” Dan let his voice pitch up, knitting his eyebrows together in overwrought confusion to cover his actual uncertainty in the conversation’s direction. “I wear glasses. You learn to work through it.” He knew he was being unprofessional, snapping at someone while on the job, but he couldn't help it. Something about Jeff Kane didn't sit right with him on a chemical level.

“Yes, I’m no stranger to hard work. I work very hard to keep this family afloat, make the Kane name something to be proud of.” Jeff tugged at the cuff of his sleeve, straightening it out. “Jonah has always found that credo a little hard to abide by.”

“He’s certainly unique.”

“I remember when he was an intern at the White House, he took some ridiculous video of Julia Hughes.” Jeff almost smiled, reaching up to straighten his glasses, as if he could actually see the memory. “Dreadful business for her, of course, but he had to make some rather unsavory deals to keep his job, once they found out he was responsible.”

Dan said nothing, vaguely aware he was nodding. Click.

“It’s too bad, what some people have to do to stay on the straight and narrow. The feet that they step on.” Jeff tsked, staring pointedly at Dan for one, two, three more seconds, before sighing again and turning to walk back down the hall. “Well, I won’t keep you. I’m sure you’ve got a lot of packing to do. Good night, Mr. Egan.”

Dan nodded again, and his feet sinking into the thick, rose patterned carpet as he walked back down the hallway. His hand was knocking on the hotel door, having no magnetic key to let himself back in. He stared at his knuckles, which had always flushed a little pinker than the rest of his skin, and the dark hair that thinned the farther away from his wrist it grew. There was a groan and the sound of a heavy step stumbling towards the door.

“Aw, babe, did you not understand how the ice machine works?” Jonah asked, and for a second Dan just stared up at him, in his hastily thrown on sweats and white undershirt, his mussed dark hair looking like a shock against his pale, sharp cheekbones. He was handsome, in a scruffy way, thrown into relief by the hallway lights with an easy, teasing smile pointed at Dan. So for a moment Dan took in this handsome, smiling Jonah, and mourned him.

And then he reached out and shoved him with both hands.

“Ow, fuck!” Jonah hissed, reaching up to touch the spot on his pecs where Dan had pushed. Dan only advanced farther into the room, and shoved him back again. Somewhere inside him, whatever had clicked slid out of place. “What the hell, T-1000?”

“You know, you rich kids are really fucked up.” He said, in a voice a lot thinner than he would have preferred. “Not only do you fuck over those of us with actual talent, you have to rub it in by actually fucking us.”

“What are you _talking_ about, are you on coke?” Jonah’s eyes were wide. He splayed his fingers as far apart as they could stretch in front of him, like Dan was about to whip a basketball at his face. Not a bad idea, actually.

“This is done, okay? Call up some twink or fucking Amy next time you want to get your pathetic little rocks off. I’m clocking the fuck out.” He bent over to grab his shoes, his fucking Converse he had arrived in what felt like a million years ago. He’d thrown them on in his apartment because he knew Jonah liked them. Like a fucking _idiot._

He yanked them onto his bare feet as Jonah stepped up into his personal space, smelling like sex and sweat and _Dan,_ awkwardly bobbing his head around like a seizing snake, trying to get Dan to look him in the eye. “What happened, Dan, just take a fucking Xanax and tell me what the shit happened."

“You fucked me.”

A small, confused smile tugged at the side of Jonah’s lopsided mouth as Dan started throwing his suit and jeans haphazardly into his carry-on, yanking on an unzipped hoodie, his arms suddenly gooseflesh. “Yeah, I did.”

Dan almost slapped him, but decided that would slow down the process of getting the fuck out of that hotel room. “No, you dumb fucking shit. When we were interns. You said you were going to help me and you threw me under the goddamn bus like I’m your fucking Vice President.”

Jonah’s smile slid off his face. “I-I didn’t-” And there went the hand up to his hair, tugging on his bangs like some shy kid. “That’s not what…fuck.” For the first time Dan realized it might be an intentional move.

“Oh, now you have nothing to say? You don’t even realize what you did, scapegoating that fucking video on me like that, do you?” Dan pulled his backpack onto his shoulders. It was unzipped, some of his clothes and skin products flopping out awkwardly out the sides, but he didn’t want to lose momentum by twisting around to zip it up. “Nothing life ruining is ever permanent when you’re rich and your Daddy’s important.”

Jonah’s hand dropped and his nostrils flared. “Fuck you, Dan! Don’t talk about my fucking family-”

“I’ll talk about your fucking family all I want.” Dan leaned in closer, too enraged to even care he had to tilt his head up to growl in Jonah’s face. “You’re a talentless rich kid who only has a job because you sacrifice people with actual brains at the altar. You’re pathetic.”

Jonah grabbed Dan’s chin, hard in his hand, forcing his head back even farther, the fold of his neck pinching. “At least I’m not a fucking _whore._ ”

Dan’s body took over, an arm reaching up through the space in between their chests and shoved Jonah’s arm off him. His other hand punched him in the nose, drawing back with blood on his knuckles. He wiped it on the side of his hoodie, mismatched with the fucking suit pants he still had on, trying not to let his head go light and fuzzy at the sight of it. Jonah cupped his nose, laughing with forced mirth.

“Go to hell, Jonad.” He forced out through clenched teeth, and turned on his heel.

It took him ten minutes to get an Uber, and ignored the strange look his bare-chested ensemble got him as he climbed in from the valet circle in front of the hotel.

“Logan Airport.” He said, somehow.

* * *

He couldn't stop shaking the entire ride to the airport, or on the shuttle to his boarding area - people probably thought he was a junkie, he was certainly dressed like one. He stopped in one of the tiny, foul-smelling bathrooms next to a Cinnabon to put on jeans and a shirt, some semblance of a normal outfit. He splashed cold water on his face and swiped Mizon gel under his eyes.  _Get it together, motherfucker. Be a winner._

"Do you have Dramamine?" He asked the woman at the kiosk by the gate. He wasn't sure if they even still made it, but he remembered his mother giving it to him and Dave when they took a flight to Disney World as little boys: they both had horrible motion sickness growing up, and it knocked them out like nothing else Dan had found. But the woman only located and handed him a small plastic packet from behind the counter, her eyes disgustingly soft and sympathetic.

"Just take two." It sounded less like instructions and more like pleading. Were his eyes red or something?

His cell phone was buzzing. It had started almost immediately after he left the Boston Harbor Hotel and he hadn't looked at anything but the first two text messages.

 **JONAH: U hit**   **lkie a grl**

**JONAH: danny dont b fuckin stupid plz**

Without breaking eye contact with the cashier, he peeled open the Dramamine and popped four in his mouth.

Once he settled into coach, he shut off his phone and fell into a dreamless sleep in his before the plane even taxied. He was woken, still groggy, by a pursed-lipped stewardess after what felt like minutes, who informed him they had landed at the DCA and he was holding up the line. He shuffled off the plane, watching the little apple on his phone glow to life, and called Sue.

"Get me something."

" _Did you enjoy your vacation_?" She sounded level as always, and she wasn't in prison, which would have calmed Dan's nerves if he could feel anything but a heavy sleepiness from the drugs that had yet to leave his body. 

"Get me something, I don't fucking care, do it now."

" _What happened to your manners, Dan_?"

"Not in the mood, Sue."

The lack of obnoxious nickname seemed to make her finally do her job, the familiar sound of clicking beginning. " _I have Bill wanting someone tonight, but if you're still at the airport-_ -"

"I'll get there. I don't care what he wants, I'll do it. I'll be that guy."

"Okay." Sue said dubiously, and texted him the specific instructions as he caught another Uber home. His phone, which had been silent for a spell, picked up it's inane buzzing once more.

His whole life was Ubers. Ubers and taxis and hotel rooms, washing his hair and brushing his teeth. Putting on the red satin panties and a matching lace garter Bill requested under his suit and digging one of his back up lubes out of his dresser drawer, his top choice having been confiscated by TSA agents. Showing up to the Jefferson right on time, letting Bill peel off his layers until he stood black and white and red all over. Staying silent as he got fucked on the carpet, Bill's curly hair rubbing rough against his forehead while his clammy fingers tugged at Dan's garter, twisting around a thumb.

His life was leaving the hotel a little before ten PM, his phone buzzing with such frequency he could probably use it as a vibrator, and contemplating the rug burn on his back when he spotted Agent Collins leaning against the glass double doors of the lobby.

"Mr. Egan?" He asked, the way a Bond villain would ask, the way Jeff Kane asked, when there's every reason to be smug because they've won. 

Something in Dan's neck and shoulders began to dissolve, some sort of hard caulk-like buildup under his skin. He didn't run, didn't even turn around. His bag with his condoms and newly earned cash in his hand, he walked towards Collins without a word or a muscle moved in resistance. He looked straight ahead, shoulders pushed back, ignoring the curious glances of a few of the hotel's guests and employees. They did not get the satisfaction of seeing him fall apart.

"Yeah."

Agent Collins took a step foreword to close the gap between them, picked up Dan's right hand, and slapped a cuff around it. "Daniel Egan, you're under arrest for prostitution and solicitation. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say may be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney one will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your girl wrote the entirety of the Miranda rights above from memory because she was raised in a family of cops and is a fucking nerd.


	15. Chapter 15

You were allowed more than one phone call in jail, it turned out.

Dan tried Sue first, who didn’t pick up. This wasn’t surprising, there was a very real possibility she was handcuffed to a table just down the hall from him. He just felt as though that’s what a hooker did after being arrested at the entrance of a D.C. hotel. The phrase  _If you get popped, first call’s to your pimp, not your mom_ kept repeating over and over in his head.

He decided against calling his parents or brother - that would involve an admission of what he’d really been doing for a living the last five years - a painful and humiliating conversation if he’d ever had one. For a moment he seriously considered calling Russ - he was the only attorney Dan knew personally, not through hooking - but nixed the idea for the same reasons he wasn’t going to call his mommy, not to mention he couldn’t remember his number.

“PKM Consultants.” said a voice, far too chipper for this hour. “How may I direct your call?”

“Hi, yeah, is Amy Brookheimer in yet?” He kept his voice level, tried not to betray, somehow vocally, that he was sitting in a police station.

“She is, what this is regarding?”

“Tell her it’s Dan Egan. It’s an emergency.”

“Sure thing, please hold.” The phone clicked to silence - typical Sidney Purcell, not operating under ever the pretense of warmth with cheesey hold music - and then the receptionist returned, her voice far less perky. “I’m sorry, Ms. Brookheimer actually stepped out for a moment.”

Shit. “Do you know when she’ll be back?” He asked, against a sinking stomach.

There was an awkward pause. He could almost hear the wild gesturing. “She’s...having breakfast with her sister.” The receptionist blurted out.

“Her sister.” Dan pressed his head against the top of the receiver, his lips pressing into a hard line.

“Yes sir.”

“Okay, well can you take a message?”

“Absolutely.” She sounded relieved.

“Fuck you, you fucking bottle blonde hypocrite. Fuck off to fucking Fairfax with Ed and your frozen eggs, you frigid bitch.” He hissed, and slammed the phone back onto the hook without waiting for a response. If Amy knew he’d been busted, surely word of the Great Hooker Crackdown was percolating throughout D.C.

The sun rose on the new day and Agent Collins led him out of the holding cell, still congenial as he cuffed Dan to the table in an interrogation room and asked if he needed any water. If he was smug, pleased he’d gotten another dangerous degenerate off the street, he had the decency not to let it show on his face. If you were a reasonably groomed white guy, the fuzz usually chilled out once they knew they had you locked down.

“Dan - can I call you Dan?”

“I’m not saying anything without my lawyer present.” He refused to give an inch, lest his lack of a plan be exposed. He craned to check the time on Agent Collins wristwatch. He nodded, but continued like Dan hadn’t said anything.

“Dan, I want to talk about what we can do for you. You’re in trouble, let’s just start with that. That’s the unavoidable truth of this situation. What we have some flexibility with is how much.” He smiled, again, not unkindly, and leaned back against his chair. “If you can help us get a scope of how big this operation was, and about the possible movement of cocaine by sex workers in the district, I know the DA will be more than willing to cut you a generous deal. A year tops. Maybe even probation and community service. It’s up to you, though.”

“Did you honestly just give me a ‘we can do this the easy way or the hard way?’” Normally Dan was terrified of cops, both for obvious reasons and because his parents had demanded the utmost respect of all authorities figures into him as a child, and he’d never been able to fully shake that grudging reverence. Now though, he didn’t feel anxious or cowed. He didn’t feel anything.

Agent Collins clicked his tongue and reached under the table, coming up with a manila folder from his briefcase. “I was trying to give you a chance to defend yourself before I brought these out.” He opened the folder and let it’s content lay flat on the table.

They were pictures, private-eye style, taken from across the street and through the window, of Dan. Two different nights, once with Kent Davison, on all fours on top of the hotel bedspread, and just a few hours before, with Bill.

Dan remembered reading in college Psychology that people’s perceptions of themselves were so distorted by insecurities and life experiences that scientists theorized that one wouldn’t even recognize their own face passing them on the street. He supposed that there was some merit to that, because the man in those pictures didn’t even appear to be a _person_. Glassy-eyed on the floor in lingerie that looked cheap and frayed, hands up against a balsa wood end table with wan skin, expressionless as he accepted money from both of them. Is that what he looked like?

“These don’t prove anything.” He managed.

“Dan, this is photographic evidence you had sex with both these men for money. Sue Wilson has already told us everything. If you keep denying that you’re just going to draw this out for yourself.” He heard the faint sounds of a clatter out in the lobby, or at least he thought he might have; Agent Collins didn’t react.

“Who can even prove these photos are legitimate? I’ve worked on both sides of the aisle, someone could be trying to sabotage me for helping the other side.” It was weak, and they both knew it. The commotion was a little louder outside, someone arguing with the uniforms at the front desk.

“We received these on good authority.” Agent Collins said, beginning to lose patience, and edge in his voice.

Dan opened his mouth, then closed it. The little voice in his head was exhausted to the point of silence. He was exhausted. He was exhausted and he had no friends and what was the _point?_ Get out of here so he could keep getting fucked like some sex zombie in those pictures. He’d hit a dead end in this maze he’d been chased through. Maybe that was okay, in the grand scheme of things. He let his head fall into his hands.

“This is such a shit day.” He mumbled. Agent Collins leaned across the table.

“What was that?”

There was a knock on the door. Agent Collins frowned, and stood to answer it. A uniformed officer with dark hair in a low bun, Marjorie Palmiotti, her nameplate read, appeared in the sliver and whispered in his ear. Collins frown deepened. “God dammit.” He whispered.

“Dan Egan? You posted bail, you’re free to go.” Marjorie said.

“You can leave, you _will_ be back in court on Monday.” Agent Collins quickly added, clearly pissed. Dan blinked.

“I didn’t-”

“Your husband just created quite a ruckus in processing, he paid it all off.” Marjorie said, briskly undoing Dan’s handcuffs. He tried not to give away that he had no fucking idea what she was talking about. His _husband_? Did Sue have some back-up benefactor to get her people out of situations like this? He rubbed his wrists as she led him back out to the lobby.

“Hey sweetie.” He heard, a horrible, drawling voice, stopping him dead in his tracks. Jonah was sitting in one of the threadbare chairs by the window, flipping through a waterlogged copy of People magazine. “Let’s get you home.”

He almost flipped him off, almost punched him. But the shred of his brain that was still in control of his faculties and socialization kept his mouth shut as Marjorie handed him his cell phone back in a plastic bag. His bag of lube and condoms and money was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s my bag?”

“That’s evidence in an ongoing investigation.” She said. Jonah squeezed his hip, affectionate to the naked eye, but it felt more like a warning not to say anything else.

“Of course.” He managed.

“You look exhausted, Danny. Come on, let’s get you home.” He moved his hand to the small of Dan’s back, and his numb fatigue was punctured by white rage. How fucking dare he touch him like that, like they were something. He barely got air in and out of his nose as Jonah led him outside, into the fall chill, and climbed into the passenger’s seat of his ugly fucking Cube.

“You want to say thank you, asshole?” Jonah asked, once they’d put on their seatbelts.

“I didn’t fucking ask you to come get me!” Dan snapped.

“Exactly, I was being fucking chivalrous. You flipped out on me and flew to another fucking state! I had to follow you back to D.C. - Uncle Jeff's fucking pissed at me, so thanks for that! This is why people think you’re a nutcase!”

“Oh, so you’ve been stalking me? Like that’s anymore normal, you Golem.”

“No, fuck you, Amy Brookheimer called me like an hour ago, she said you’d probably fucked yourself up the ass and needed someone to come surgically remove it.”

Dan crossed his arms. “Amy called you?”

“Yeah.” Jonah seemed unprepared for the question. “We hooked up a few years back, she never got over me.”

Dan scoffed, looked out the window. “Just keep telling yourself that buddy.”

“She’s a cool chick, even if you do have to eat her out forever for her to come."

“ _Right_? I swear my jaw almost locked and she just looked bored.” Dan blurted, momentarily distracted, and Jonah laughed. He bit back his own smirk, remembering how angry he was at the whole world.

“She doesn't want you do get fucked over, she's just looking out for her own perfect ass first. You'd do the same thing."

"So she sent you?"

 _"I_ came here. I need to talk to you, asshole.”

"Fuck off."

"Hey, you owe me. I paid that short lesbo inside to let you out, so like -"

"Holy shit, you think I'm going to _sleep with you_ because you got me out of prison? You've seriously watched too many pornos."

"Just talk to me! Just give me an hour and let me fucking talk."

Dan glanced at the police station, wondering if anyone was watching them through the windows. He was never rolling his shades up again. “Not here.”

Jonah, for once, seemed to understand his glance. He turned the ignition, and Dan let his head fall against the glass pane as the engine turned over and sent vibrations throughout the car.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere cool, you’ve probably never been invited.”

“Go fuck yourself.”


	16. Chapter 16

The sway of the car in the downtown traffic lulled Dan into a drowse he was too weak and exhausted to fight. He fell asleep against the window of the car, the glass shaking against his forehead. He didn’t dream, only lay prone in dark silence for a vague amount of time before he felt a warm hand on him, gently nudging him awake.

“Dude, wake up.” Jonah said, leaning over the hump of his car to shake his shoulder. “Do you want a cheeseburger?”

“What?” Dan blinked a few times, but even as his vision cleared the scene made no sense.

Jonah’s car was parked in front of a low building made of chrome and neon, a hot pink sign reading _Rosie’s_ printed above the doors, in round, loopy cursive. A woman old enough to be his mother stood next to the Jonah’s open window in an old fashioned blue waitress’ uniform, complete with starched white lapels and matching roller skates.

“Did we fucking time travel?”

“He’ll have a cheeseburger too, and um, two large fries and milkshakes, real chocolate, none of that skim milk bullshit Gus tried to pull last time. Thanks Louise.”

Louise scribbled something down on her notepad and pushed herself back towards the front entrance of the restaurant, using the hood of the Cube to propel herself.

Dan sat upright and saw a few other cars being catered to by skating waitstaff along the row of parking spaces, mostly minivans full of families with little kids. He couldn’t tell if they were even in D.C. anymore - not that he’d be familiar with such a tourist trap of a place, even if it was down the street from his apartment.

“I don’t eat fast food.” Dan said, despite his stomach lining throbbing with hunger as he spoke. He hadn't eaten anything since... _shit,_ since Lucy's wedding reception. Fuck Jonah for making him feed himself.

“It’s one meal, I think you’ll live.” Jonah leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms behind his head. “This place is fucking awesome, it’s only been open since the '90s but it’s totally convincing retro, right?”

“Why the fuck are we here?”

Jonah’s posture stiffened a little, and he dropped his hands to his stomach, fiddling with the zipper of his hoodie. “I wanna talk and I wanna eat. Two stones.”

“It’s two birds.”

“Dan, you have to get this through your fucking head, I had no fucking idea you got blamed for that video over me, okay? By the time I realized it was causing so much shit you’d already been fired.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“I’m serious! I tried to talk to Uncle Jeff afterward, but all he’d say was he’d ‘taken care of it’ and ‘drop it Joanie’.”

“So you never corrected anyone. You just let me get screwed and looked out for yourself.”

Jonah’s eyes narrowed. “Of course I fucking did, Dan. You would’ve done the same thing, you know how it works in this town. Jeff made some really good points-”

“You ruined my life!”

“Okay, stop with that fucking shit, Dan! _You_ ruined your life. You stopped trying to stand back up and just spread your legs and that’s why you’re in this mess.”

Dan leaned over to slap him, but at that moment, the waitress knocked on the window, lifting a tray of wrapped burgers and frothy milkshakes filled to the brim. Jonah took a deep breath, rolled down the window, and handed her a fifty dollar bill.

“Thanks Louise, keep the change.” He said shortly, and pulled the food into the car, closing the window again. Dan’s mouth watered traitorously; all that salt and trans fat smelled incredible. Before Jonah could react, he grabbed one of the burgers and unwrapped the wax paper, sinking his teeth into it. He almost drooled at the hot, salty taste of processed hormone-filled beef.

“Fuck me, this is so fucking good.” He mumbled, and Jonah badly bit back a smile.

“White bread and red meat, babe.” He look a long sip from his milkshake and followed it with a handful of fries. This seemed to calm his temper slightly. “Dan I...” he started, and swiped his bangs. “Why do you do this?”

“You mean…”

“Yeah. You went to Cornell, man, you had so many good fucking ideas when we worked on that social media outreach as interns, you’re hot as hell.” Jonah shrugged. Dan rolled his eyes - trust Jonah to equate making up Twitter hashtags with intelligence.

“Why do you do this? Like, what inspired this path of whorishness at reasonable rates?”

Dan didn’t answer for a moment, picking a greasy, delicious fry out of the paper carton and sucking the salt off it until it went soft in between his teeth.

“I mean, I like sex. I’m good at it. When my career when belly-fucking-up I sort of fell into it, just as a stopgap. I needed to pay off my student debt and my rent. And then Sue found me at this club one night and got me organized…” He lifted his free hand in a wide, sweeping motion. _And here we are._

“So it’s not like this is your secret passion or something?”

“Running from the police? Sucking off octarian congressmen? That’s not what I wrote my college essay on, no.” He ate another fry. “Look, you give me shit about this and so does Amy, but I did try to bounce back. I tried for almost a year after I got fired from the White House. I sent out a thousand resumes. Nothing. I was radioactive.” He hesitated, shrugging and peeling a pickle off his burger. “It was fucking embarrassing, okay? And it felt nowhere near as shitty as it will if I call up Sidney Purcell and get shit on, today.”

“You’re almost thirty, right?”

Dan blinked. “What?”

“You’re a year older than me, right? I’m twenty-six, gonna be twenty-seven in August.” Jonah said, pausing to slurp disgustingly from his milkshake straw.

“Well, you don’t look a day over twelve, bud.”

Jonah flipped him off with a thin stream chocolate ice cream running down the side of his hand. “There’s this line I remember from Maya Angelou-.”

“Fuck off, no you fucking don’t.”

“My mom’s taught American Literature and Poetry at U of Manchester since I was ten, fuckhead, shut up.”

He gazed across the parking lot at two little girls chasing each other around their family's Sedan, yanking on each other’s hair. “ _By thirty, you should know what you would and wouldn’t do for money or love_.”

“You're gonna save me, Jonah? Are you Richard Gere?”

“No, I’m the guy who knows who took those pictures of you.”

Dan frowned. “It was the police. Furlong’s lackeys.”

Jonah shook his head, his sneering grin spreading wide across his face. “Nuh-uh.” He popped a french fry into his mouth. “I was thinking about it on the way over here. You’ve slept with, what? Hundreds of people? Probably close to thousands.”

“Easy.”

“But they only have pictures from Halloween and last night. Both times were after you hooked up with me.” He raised his eyebrows.

“So?”

Jonah’s eyebrows climbed further up his forehead. Dan punched his arm. “Speak English, Jonad.”

“And you think I’m the fucking stupid one.” Jonah said, through a bite of burger. “It was Jeff.”

“What?”

“You’re the one he threw in front of the bus to save a Kane back then, you’re the one I’ve been hooking up with in a...legally flexible way. He knows we've been hanging out. He got you to ditch me at Luce's wedding because he thinks you're playing the long game. Plotting to destroy my rep for revenge.”

"What _rep?"_

 _"Dannnn."_ Jonah whined petulantly. "Listen to me, this is what fucking went down!"

“While that’s tempting to believe, Jeff exposing that we slept together would fuck you over too.” Dan said. “I don’t go around announcing my profession to people, and nobody else will either. It’s mutually assured destruction.” _None of these government people want to admit they have to pay for ass,_ he remembered Amy saying.

“What if I did?”

“What?”

“What if I threatened to go public with using hookers? I’ve slept with you, Amy, Joe, Luke - and I _know_ I’m not the only one in my family. Lucy’s got a thing for big Latino guys. My cousin Ezra? People think he's a war hero but I've seen his webcam contacts, the shit he’s into is _disgusting_. It’s like _Spartacus_. If I out everyone-”

“-Jeff will back down.” Dan realized. “One idiot family member, you can blame mushrooms or exhaustion, but if it’s half the Kanes...his wannabe Camelot will be ruined.”

“I’m Rosemary Kennedy, babe. I’ll lose my shit and he'll shit himself if I try and expose the rest of the family skeletons on my way down. It'll totally get him to say he doctored the photos because he doesn't approve of me dating some no one. Furlong and those cops will have nothing.”

“That’s wildly inappropriate.”

Jonah shrugged. “You’re just pissed you didn’t think of it first.” He raised his hand for a high-five. “I’m a fucking genius.”

Dan didn’t return it. “Why would you do that, though?” He said, more quietly than he would’ve liked. Jonah lowered his hand and hunched back over his burger, ripping a chunk of roll off with his teeth.

“Shut up.”

“No, I’m serious. You bail me out, bring me to some sort of Betty Boop themed purgatory and offer to fuck over all your cousins to keep me out of Petersburg Low? Why?” He swatted Jonah’s hand, making him release his burger. “Look at me, fuckhead.”

Jonah did look up at him, his eyes looking softer and wider and somehow more brown than Dan ever saw them. “You know why, Dan.”

_“Elizabeth and Dakota, I’m assigning you to the comms department, go see Mike.” Gina said, dragging a pencil down her list to keep her place. “And….anyone who’s left are floaters, make yourselves useful.”_

_Shit. A familiar hot, tight pressure lodged itself in Dan’s chest, just below his throat. He took a deep breath, making a fist and pressing his fist against the side of his leg. He made an indent in his brand new suit pants he hoped no one could tell were from Joseph A. Bank. Keep it together, Egan. Maybe it didn't mean anything, not being assigned to a specific department. Maybe this was actually better, he could get his face seen in every department. Breathe, Dan. Breathe and focus. Do not blow this._

_The other floater, a guy too-tall to live in khakis and fucking boat shoes, didn't seem worried._

_"Dude, this is fucking awesome! How long are you here for? I've got three weeks, but we'll see about that. Nobody can resist J-Diddy once they got a taste. Oh, right,_ _I'm Jonah. Jonah Ryan. _”_ He grinned, holding out a dustbin sized hand, nearly knocking his brand new ID badge into his own face. _

_Dan looked him over, saw his deep-set eyes rove over Dan’s own body, lingering in certain areas with rapid blinking. Oh man. This guy was pathetic; didn’t they teach people not to think with their dicks in whatever bumfuck town he came from? Still, he was cute, in a lanky, goofy jock sort of way. He shook his hand, returning his warm smile. A crush could be useful, if he played his cards right._

_“Hey, nice to meet you. I’m Dan.”_

“You like me.” He whispered. Jonah shrugged and grabbed a chunk of his own hair again, fiddling with it aimlessly. "You're so fucking stupid."

Dan kissed him then, a hard and pathetically desperate kiss, leaning over the cupholders and knocking both milkshakes onto the floor mats with abandon. He kissed him like he was twelve leagues under the sea and Jonah was the only source of oxygen, like the secrets of the universe would be revealed to him if he gripped the back of Jonah’s head hard enough and stuck his tongue down his throat.

“Backseat, turn over.” Dan breathed into his mouth. Jonah’s eyes lit up, his back arching almost instivectly before he was even horizontal. It just made Dan want to kiss him more, kiss this complete fucking lunatic with too much hair and mild gigantism with a stupid job who liked him, liked Dan Egan. And so he did.

 _It’s a shame we’ll never be able to eat here again._ He found himself thinking as Jonah's ass bucked up onto his index and middle fingers, all too aware of the Cube rocking with him, in the middle of the parking lot. 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who have stuck with this dumb story as long as you have, especially my mice company rillrill and onlytheshortones, and GemNovelIdeals, who wrote lovely, long reviews for every single chapter.
> 
> Alright, let's take this fucker home.

Later, Amy called it “even a broken clock is right twice a day.” Jonah called it “my kick-ass negotiating skills.” The latent Catholic in Dan wanted to call it a miracle.

Jonah wasn’t kidding around about how the D.C. Kanes were keeping their beds warm. Along with screenshots of his own cash withdrawals - Dan bit back a snide remark about how many there were, filed it away for the next time he felt like being really nasty - He piled texts between him and Ezra bragging about their paid conquests, a few naughty photos Lucy had posted on Instagram with a guy Dan knew from a three-way named Manolo, even an email he and Lucy had sent joking about their grandfather bringing an eighteen-year-old hooker to a Bartlet Fundraiser the past fall onto a text message he sent to Jeff. _Still want to take the moral high ground, Jeff?_

Dan composed the message himself. His legs quivered as Jonah hit send and sat down on his couch next to Dan, placing a calming hand on his kneecap. He felt like he’d stopped short after thirty laps around the Reflecting Pool, his heartbeat and brain still screaming at him to run, keep going, don’t stop. And his body wobbled, unsure of it’s new stillness, but slowly understanding, regardless, that this new normal wasn’t going to kill him.

Jeff called Jonah’s cell phone ninety seconds after receiving the message - he probably hadn’t even read the whole thing. Jonah jumped at the buzzing, dropping it on the floor and fumbling to pick it up and put it on speaker.

“What the fuck was that, _Joanie?”_ Jeff snarled, no prelude necessary.

“Tell those bitch police that you staged those photos of Dan.” Jonah blurted out. “Tell them you did some photoshop shit or the Kanes will be the poster family for prostitutes. I’ll tell everyone about me-

“ _Jesus fuck, you never learn, do you? He’s manipulating you, you moronic tree. He’s smarter than you and you stole his job, now he wants to take you down with him, and he will because you’re wet for him._ ”

“-and I’ll tell him about Lucy. You know, your skank daughter? And Ezra the War Hero, and Grandpa John-”

“ _You little fucking turd_.”

Jonah grinned, nearly splitting his face into uneven, lopsided halves of triumph. He serendipitously lifted his hand from Dan’s knee and grabbed his hand, interlocking their fingers as he spoke. “Luce just got married, you really want to ruin her reputation with your new in-laws? You want Grandpa to go from being Ted Kennedy to fucking Anthony Wy-ner?”

“It’s Weiner.” Dan murmured. Jonah’s eyebrows shot into his bangs.

“Wait, seriously? And he- shit, that’s fucking hysterical.” He laughed. Dan knocked his leg against Jonah’s. _Focus._ “Right. Anyway, do we have a deal?”

Jeff paused, for just a second too long. Jonah smiled even wider.

Dan didn’t fully exhale for hours afterwards, even when Jonah kissed him, went down on him, leaned against the couch and held him to his chest, squeezing just a little too hard.

* * *

“Dude, it’s Amy again. It’s a good thing she’s bangin’ or she’d be really fucking annoying.” Jonah yawned, unceremoniously ripping Dan’s new cell phone - he insisted on buying it, “now that you’re unemployed and everything.” - out from it’s charger and tossing it across the kitchen. Dan barely caught it, still bleary from the few hours of sleep he managed to catch.

“Jesus, you’d think I don’t know how to use an alarm clock.”

“She doesn’t want you to make her look bad.” Jonah pointed it out grabbing his toast with on hand as it popped up on the counter. “Showing up all late, with sex hair.”

“Fuck off.” He was right though, dammit. Dan couldn’t believe Sidney had called him in for an interview - mostly because Purcell made it sound like a joke on and off the entire phone conversation.  “I want to meet the guy who fucked that hobbit Jeff Kane with his own dick.”

Amy’s shoulders were probably lodged in her hair with her anxiety about all that could go wrong, what Dan might reveal about her. He lifted a hand and gently pat the top of his hair. “It doesn’t look weird though, right?”

Jonah shook his head, swallowing the bite of toast in his mouth before answering. “Nah, you look hot. Very legit.”

Jonah had slept over the night before, curling around Dan with a big hand rubbing slow, loose circles on his stomach until his shoulders untensed. He slept over three out of the past five nights - the other two, Dan had stayed at his apartment.

Dan would never admit this, not even under waterboarding, but the fourth night, they hadn’t even done anything, just ate Thai food and fell asleep on the couch. Like they lived in the suburbs and were accountants or something.

(He woke up with Jonah’s head nestled in the crook of his arm and couldn’t stop himself from leaning over and kissing a warm, sweaty part of his skin under his bangs. Living like a law-abiding adult was making him disgusting.)

He glanced at his phone, at the five texts from Amy, and more noticeably, the absence of messages from Sue. After Jeff backed down, Agent Collins couldn’t hold her just on her texts to her escorts - they were expertly vague, nothing but _call mes_ and _fines_ in response to dozens and dozens of equally nonincriminating safety texts.

She stopped by his apartment in a navy trench coat two days after Jeff retracted his photographic evidence. A sleek black sedan idled on the curb outside.

“I’m leaving the district for awhile.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t try to call me.”

“Okay.”

“Thank Mr. Ryan for his help.”

“He’s inside. You can tell him yourself.”

“No.” She looked him over one more time. “Wear sunscreen.” She turned on her heels, which looked as though they were made from the same shiny obsidian as her car, and walked away. Dan wasn’t positive, but he could’ve swore he saw the silver profile of Kent Davison waiting in the passenger’s seat before she drove away.

“Dude, you actually are gonna be late if you keep fucking with your hair.” Jonah said as Dan stooped to examine his reflection in the stove one last time, in his new suit he couldn’t resist splurging on, for the day. Sue was right; his freckles were exploding over his face and neck. He decided he didn’t actually care. Despite the fact that it was nearly Christmastime, he found himself in the sun more often these days.

His own reflection was yanked away from him, literally, as Jonah grabbed hold of his new green tie and pulled him upright for a kiss.

“You are so fucking hot." He said approvingly, smacking Dan's ass. "Now get out of here.”

“Alright, easy Donna Reed.” He muttered against Jonah’s teeth, but he opened his mouth anyway, let his hand drift down the back of Jonah's soft t-shirt, grip his hips. Put a little effort into it and still make the 7:45 train to PKM.

After all, Dan Egan was very good at everything he did.


End file.
